Of The Stars
by Nico Morrison
Summary: A grave...an angel...a man. Set three years after the movie, we find ourselves in Paris, where familiar faces return for the continuation of a story that didn't end when everyone thinks it did. EC. COMPLETE!
1. Ritual

**_Hello all..._**

**_I'm an huge fan of Phantom in all its forms. This fic, which begins three years after the movie ended,will combine Kay's work, Leroux's work, and, of course, the movie. (I'm picturing all the movie characters as I write this.) Standard disclaimers apply...I do not own Phantom of the Opera. I am, however, going to take creative liberty frequently, so don't be surprised if I make up or mess up a fact, a name, or something like that. _**

**_Enjoy!_**

Paris, three years later...

"Did you love him, Christine" Meg Giry stood next to her friend in front of an elaborate grave. Christine's face was stoic as she placed a single red rose in the arms of the marble angel sitting on top of the tombstone, its eyes downcast in an eternal state of mourning.

"The word "love" doesn't come close to describing what I felt for him" Christine answered, her voice full of sorrow.

Meg looked up at Christine's face. A single tear was making its way down her porcelain cheek. Meg reached out and took Christine's hand, squeezing it as a means of support. Christine looked over at her and smiled weakly.

This was becoming something of a ritual, Meg realized. This was the fourth Sunday in a row she had found Christine in the cemetery…and always staring at _that_ grave.

The light snow that had started to fall during the girls' carriage ride to the cemetery had begun to intensify.

"Christine" Meg said softly. "We should return...rehearsal starts in an hour and the managers would not be happy if you, their shining star, were late."

Christine sighed, pulling the hood of her cape over her thick brown curls. "I'm no shining star, Meg" she said darkly. "Stars belong in the heavens, while I will surely burn in hell." She turned from her friend and wiped the piling snow from the front of the tombstone to reveal two simple letters.

O.G.

It was a shame, really. All the elaborate marble and the stoic angels that guarded the tomb were protecting a man whose name was not preserved for the ages.


	2. Numb

**_Sorry about the lack of punctuation on the last chap. I don't know what the deal is, it goes away when I upload. Hope it's not making this hard to read!_**

He was drunk.

The red and black velvet drapery that surrounded him seemed to sway in an unfelt breeze. He was flat on his back, staring up at the night sky's stars through the glass ceiling, a feature he had been particularly pleased with when he bought the stone and marble mansion two years ago.

He hadn't thought that he would ever enjoy looking at the sky. He always assumed that he was a creature of the underworld; a man whose fate had condemmed him to a lifetime of darkness; a lifetime without the sun.

Even now, with the freedom that hisaquired fortune had afforded him, he felt unworthy of the sunlight. He never entered this room during the day, the self loathing that consumed him was too overpowering to allow him to step into the warmth of the rays.

Instead, he slept during the day and drank at night. It was a life of numbed bliss; a life filled with the sluggishness of the drink and the equally tranquilizing notes that he pounded out of the expensive piano sitting in the middle of the room.

The piano. He dragged himself to his feet, suddenly remembering the instrument. Not that he could ever forget it; it was the one activity that could barely pass for constructive.

Not that tonight would be constructive. He was too far gone. The fifteen or so steps from where he had been laying to the piano proved a challenge; he had fallen twice.

Once he reached the piano he sat unceremoniously at the keys, taking a moment to caress them gently before erupting into a symphony of anguish.

The notes were so powerful, in fact, that tears began to flow freely, spilling down his face and onto the ivory keys, causing his fingers to slip, making the music sound even darker than it already was.

Finally, he stopped, panting and sweating. He stood suddenly, kicking the piano bench backwards and splintering it against a wall.

It was the fourth bench he had broken in the past year.

He leaned on the piano for support, knowing he was on the verge of becoming ill from too much drink. It was a sensation he was all too familiar with.

There were no mirrors within the empty rooms of his mansion, but he briefly caught his reflection in the highly polished black laquer that covered his most prized possession.

Looking back at him, _mocking him, _was a gleaming white mask that covered the right side of his face.


	3. Saving the Opera

**_This fic is rather dark and dreary now, I know. There will be some light in this otherwise black story, I promise. _**

**_We're just getting started. _**

**_-Nico_**

"You can't be serious, Raoul"

Christine sat at her dressing table, looking at the man who was once her fiancé with a mixture of fear and rage.

"Christine" Raoul began, his voice soft. "Monsieur Firmin and Monsieur Andre are confident that the performance of this particular opera will bring a large crowd...especially after what happened...the last time."

Raoul was stammering, having been dreading the moment when he was to break the news to Christine that the Managers of the Opera Populaire had decided to resurrect Don Juan Triumphant in an effort draw an attraction and save the now impoverished theater.

It was no secret that the Opera Populaire had fallen onto harder times in the past three years. Following the last performance of Don Juan Triumphant, the gilded opera house had nearly burned to the ground. It had taken a little over a year before it had been restored to its original splendor.

Unfortunately, this had caused the depletion of all of the money the Opera Populaire had amassed during its impressive, extensive existence.

And while the opera house _looked_ normal, there was a sadness, a desperation that clung to its very walls. Christine was convinced that was the reason the audiences had dwindled; the sorrowful feelings remaining within the hallowed theater were too much for even a complete stranger to the events three years ago to bear.

It was the same terrible sadness that had pulled Christine from Raoul. She had drifted from him almost immediately following the last time they had crossed the icy waters deep within the bowels of the Opera Populaire.

Just a few weeks after that fateful night, Christine had called off the engagement. Raoul had been hurt, especially since the woman he loved seemed to have made the decision far before she informed him…

And one night, she left the opera; Raoul didn't see her for almost another year.

She had returned to the Opera Populaire as suddenly as she left, a mere shadow of the woman she once was.

"Raoul, I will take no part in this," Christine said firmly, wiping her lipstick from her face, having just finished a rehearsal for a new opera, which was not going well. She turned to the mirror and began to pull the pins from her hair roughly.

"Christine…" Raoul began.

"No, Raoul. I cannot," she said, turning to him sharply. Raoul sighed, standing behind her and looking at her in the mirror.

She was so beautiful it nearly made him weep.

"Christine," he started again. "I know you adore the Opera Populaire…"

"I am bound to it," she interrupted, her dark eyes raising to his.

"You've told me that you cannot live if you do not live within these walls," he continued, referencing a conversation he and Christine had when she first returned. "So I ask you now…will you not do all you can to save your precious opera?"

Christine looked down, several fat tears falling into her lap with the movement of her eyelids. "Raoul," she whispered.

He knelt at her side.

She raised her wet eyes to his as he took her hands in his. "If I perform Don Juan, I fear it will be my undoing…"

"Christine," Raoul started. Christine raised a hand to stop him.

"It's alright, Raoul," she said, smiling strangely. "Perhaps it is within bitter irony that I will find my punishment."

"Punishment," Raoul said, wiping a tear from her cheek. "For what do you deserve punishing?"

Christine looked down at the man kneeling before her.

How he loved her.

The pain of guilt once again gripped her stomach, wishing that she was capable of truly returning his feelings.

She pulled her hands from his and turned to her reflection again.

"I will perform," she said, her voice sounding stronger, although once again detached.

Raoul shuddered at the sound of Christine's words. They were icy; the lilting bell-like whisper that once defined the beautiful woman before him was gone, replaced with the voice of one with no life left within them.

Yet when she sang it was as if she was channeling the angel she once was; the young, happy girl that Raoul had fallen in love with.

She looked up at him in the mirror again.

"Goodnight, Raoul," Christine said, effectively dismissing him.

He bowed slightly at her, unable to help feeling slightly hurt at her curt tone. He moved to the door and looked back at her once before exiting quietly.

Christine sat still for a moment before allowing silent sobs to shake her shoulders. She cried for several moments before a name escaped her lips in a silent, desperate plea…

"Erik…"


	4. A Letter and a Decision

**_A short chapter, but a very important one. _**

**_I know this is moving slowly now, but things are about to pick up. Thanks for the reviews! Feel free to make suggestions about where you'd like the story to go...Ask and you shall receive! _**

It had been some time since Erik had gotten a letter.

He had found the gleaming white envelope shoved under his huge, heavy main doors. Now he turned it over and over in his hands, hesitating to open it for some reason.

It was early evening, before his nightly ritual of indulging in drink had begun. His head was swimming with the aftermath of another evening spent drunk, but it was a sensation he was used to.

Besides, it would instantly cease with his first swig of brandy.

He sat now in front of an impressive fire atop an elaborate red velvet chair in his study. Books and papers scattered the room. Half-written scores literally covered the three large desks sitting in various locations. Empty glasses that were once filled with brandy could be caught within a person's eyesight, no matter where they looked.

Erik sighed. His fingers began to work the delicate seal keeping the envelope's contents from him. He slowly pulled the paper out from inside and began to read.

_I am aware of your continued existence. _

_I have always known the grave lowered into the ground that was supposed to carry your remains was empty. _

_But I do not write to threaten you. Quite the opposite, in fact. I am writing to bestow upon you a bit of information you may find interesting. _

_It seems you still live within the walls of the Opera Populaire. A performance of Don Juan Triumphant has been scheduled and rehearsals have already begun. _

_Christine Daee will be playing the lead. _

Erik's blood ran icy. A thin line of sweat formed on his upper lip.

He had been so careful. He had been certain all who knew of the "Opera Ghost" now believed him to be dead.

He had been certain!

And Christine…oh, his beautiful angel! She was there! Within the walls of _his_ opera house! He thought, by now, she would be living a temperate life with that bloody fop Raoul…perhaps baring him children…he shuddered at the thought…but certainly not performing!

She still sang! She sang without her angel of music!

It had also been quite some time since Erik felt the painful current of emotion thump through his veins. He had shut everyone and everything out for so long…and now this.

How his heart ached!

He stood, moving quickly to a tall, mahogany liquor cabinet. He pulled the polished doors and reached for a full flagon of brandy.

Just as his shaking was about to pour the amber liquid into a glass, he stopped.

He replaced the carafe.

And without another thought, he left the room.

For the first time in God knows how long, Erik felt alive.

Perhaps it was because he was returning to the Opera Populaire.


	5. Another Resurrection

**_Thanks for the reviews! I realize these chapters are short, but that's how they're turning out. I'm also still just setting thing up here. Be patient! The good news is, I update frequently, especially over the weekends:) Also, so you know, this rating will eventually go up due to sexual situations. If, one day, you can't find it, check the "R" section!_**

Christine's eyes grew wide as she walked onto the stage.

It was already beginning to look precisely as it had three years ago.

Red silks hung from the rafters. A bridge was being raised twenty feet from the stage floor. A makeshift fire pit was beginning to assemble.

"Dear God," Christine breathed. Madame Giry, having heard the exclamation, moved smoothly to Christine's side. She placed a thin hand on the young woman's shoulder.

"I understand how difficult this will be for you, Christine," the older woman said, her voice low. Christine offered her a weak smile.

"Some things, Madame, must be done no matter how difficult they prove to be."

She walked onto the set, peering out into the empty audience, allowing her eyes to travel to box five.

The accursed box was empty, having not been sat in for years. Just as Christine was about to avert her eyes, she saw a shadow move.

Her heart jumped, momentarily hopeful.

Just as quickly, it fell. Erik was dead; her mind was playing tricks on her.

"Mademoiselle Daee!" Monsieur Firmin was hurrying over to her, Monsieur Andre on his heels. "We cannot _begin_ to tell you how pleased we are you have decided to bring your former role to life. Of course, things will go a bit more…smoothly this time."

"It is the least I can do, Monsieur Firmin," Christine replied, forcing her voice to sound emotionless and allowing her managers to kiss her hand. She was now used to such groveling. She could remember a time when La Carlotta was the center of the managers' attention. Now that Carlotta had left for America, she was their last remaining hope for success. "I only have one request," Christine continued.

"Anything," Andre said quickly.

"All you have to do is ask," Firmin said simultaneously.

"I would like to move into one of the vacant rooms within the opera house for the remainder of rehearsals and the run of the performance," she said.

The managers exchanged puzzled looks. Raoul, who had been off to the side, watching the exchange, suddenly moved closer.

"Christine," the young man began gently. "Are you sure that is the wisest move?"

"I believe I know what's best for me, Raoul," she replied coolly. "Is that possible, Messieurs?" She asked, looking at the two rotund men before her.

Andre nodded. "Whatever you wish, Mademoiselle."

Christine nodded. "I will be sending for my things immediately."

With that, rehearsal began.

Erik leaned even further back into the shadows of box five. The Maestro had begun to conduct the first few chords of "Past the Point of No Return."

His eyes slid closed as his music invaded his senses.

As soon as they closed, however, his eyes reopened, his gaze falling back onto the face of his beloved Christine.

She looked starkly pale in the glow of the gaslights.

He held his breath as the music led into her lines.

Then, she sang.

"_No thoughts within her head but thoughts of joy…_

_No dreams within her heart but dreams of love…"_

Erik shuddered. The voice that had been so cold when she spoke to the managers, even to the man Erik believed to be her fiance, was now filled with a passion that was almost tangible.

She held out the last note for what seemed an eternity, piercing his heart and forcing a tear from his masked eye.

He breathed in her sound, feeling more powerful; whole.

His lips curled into a smile.

It seemed, then, he was to pick up almost exactly where he had left off.


	6. A Dear Memory

**_Thanks for the votes of confidence! I'm building up here...have patience, our lovers will meet! _**

**_I hope you're all enjoying this!_**

**_This might be one of those chapters where I take creative liberty...just go with it:)_**

Christine folded her arms around herself and looked around the lavishly appointed room she had been designated to. The men she had paid to move her clothing, toiletries and other person effects had done a wonderful job, placing everything in its place before rehearsal was even over.

She didn't know what had compelled her to make the odd request to her managers. The scenery of Don Juan had overwhelmed her; it seemed that Erik could manage to memorize her still…

Even from beyond the grave.

Christine shivered at the thought.

Once her feet touched the stage, found their way back into the familiar steps of Don Juan Triumphant, she had known she needed to stay within the opera. While she wasn't certain why, the feelings were so powerful she had immediately relented.

She stood before a lavish mirror, its frame pure gold. Christine recognized it immediately as one of the mirrors that was kept in the small chapel deep within the belly of the Opera Populaire.

The chapel. She had almost forgotten it.

Not that she could ever forget it completely. So many nights she had spent staring at the religious statues, lighting candles and talking with…

him.

Her angel.

Christine's eyelids fluttered closed and she allowed herself to briefly visit a memory.

"Angel, is that you?" Her bell-like voice filled the dark room, the one candle she had lit barely illuminating anything.

"_Yes child, it is I," the ghostly, yet masculine voice replied. _

_Sixteen-year-old Christine Daee smiled, her joy overwhelming her. _

"_Angel, I hear you…speak! I listen!" She called out, a giggle to her pitch. _

"_Darling child," Erik replied, stepping into the small room. "You danced marvelously this evening."_

_Christine's breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight of the man before her. He was tall and broad shouldered. Black trousers hugged long legs. A crisp white shirt covered his obviously muscular chest. An elaborate black vest hugged his form and an impressive, flowing cape trailed behind him. _

_Standing out starkly against the dark figure was a gleaming white mask, which covered almost the entire right side of his face. _

_The side of his face that was visible always made Christine's heart feel weak. He was beyond handsome. Slick black hair framed a thickly lashed, entrancing eye. His cheek and jaw seemed to be chiseled from stone, yet his full lips looked soft enough to…_

_Without thinking, the young Christine moved close to her angel and placed a quick, appreciative kiss against the exposed cheek. As she began to back away, the angel grasped her thin wrist. _

_Christine raised her eyes to his, which were dark and burning with an emotion her young mind could not identify. _

_His thumb was running over the sensitive skin on her wrist rhythmically, causing a chill to creep up her spine. She licked her lips, unable to pull her gaze from his. _

_He moved closer to her, placing his cold hands on her exposed shoulders. _

_Her blood ran icy as he caressed her upper arms lightly, all the while looking at her face. _

"_Christine!" A bubbling, feminine voice called. "Christine, are you down there?"_

"_Meg," Christine whispered, still looking at the man before her. _

_He ran a finger down her cheek softly. _

_And then he was gone in a flash of black silk. _

"Christine?" The same bubbling voice from her memory called from the other side of her new room's door.

"Come in, Meg," Christine called back. The small, curvy blond entered the room, smiling.

"You were wonderful, as always," Meg complimented, her rosy cheeks making Christine smile. Meg was like a sister to her, and Christine loved her immensely.

"As were you, Meg," Christine replied.

"Raoul is looking for you, Christine," Meg informed her. "He's asked me to ask you to meet him on the roof when you're ready."

Christine sighed. Of course he would want to talk to her; to find out why she had decided to relocate to the opera house.

She supposed after all she had put him through, she could at least grant him her presence.

"Alright," Christine relented, grasping a heavy cloak from her wardrobe.

Meg smiled at her friend as they walked out of Christine's new room together.

* * *

Erik watched the women leave from behind the large mirror.

Twice he had almost revealed himself; twice he had reached to slide the mirror aside and take Christine in his arms, smelling the roses on her skin and claiming her lips with his own, finishing a kiss that had barely started.

He had refrained, breathlessly watching as she stood before him, seemingly lost in her thoughts.

He could stand an eternity in the darkness if only he could gaze upon the light that was Christine.

His heart had been wrenched as little Meg Giry had entered, informing Christine that the _boy_ wanted to see her. And she had agreed! No hesitation!

Of course she did…

She loved him.

Erik's blood heated at the thought.

He had let her go with him.

He had been the one that granted her this bliss. This love that was apparently stronger than the sway her angel of music had on her.

He would not make the same mistake twice.

With that thought, he easily drifted, unseen, to the roof.


	7. The Roof

**_This story is just falling out of my fingers...here's my last update of the day! _**

**_Hope you like it!_**

The roof of the Opera Populaire was just about the only structurally unaffected portion of the building. Somehow, the licking flames that erupted that night three years ago failed to climb as high as the roof.

It looked exactly the same.

Raoul was standing several feet in front of her, turning to the sound of Christine's presence.

"Hello Raoul," she said softly.

Raoul held her gaze for a moment, too entranced by her smooth face to speak.

When he finally found his voice, it was no more than a whisper.

"Why," he asked quietly. "Why would you want to sleep under this roof once more?"

Christine looked up at the night sky. "I don't know," she replied. Raoul walked closer to her.

"After all that happened in this place…all the pain…all the hurt," he said, his voice emotional. "Why would you want to surround yourself with it?"

Christine didn't respond.

"I don't pretend to understand why you do the things you do, Christine," Raoul said after a few silent moments. "God knows I practically drove myself mad trying to figure out why you risked your life for me and then called off our engagement."

"Raoul…" Christine interrupted, guilt clutching at her throat again.

"No, Christine. I've been silent long enough," Raoul continued, sounding stronger. He moved closer to her, brushing a wayward curl from her forehead. "I love you Christine. Even after all this time, after all that has happened, I love you still."

Tears were brimming on her eyelashes.

"We belong together," Raoul pressed, grasping her upper arms, becoming a bit firmer. "And you _will_ realize that," he said, his eyes a bit crazed.

He tightened his grip, causing Christine to wince involuntarily.

Seeing the pain he was causing her, he released her, running a hand through his hair.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice tense. Christine rubbed her arms, trying to erase the feeling of his hold on her.

He cleared his throat and looked at her, his eyes still slightly unfamiliar. "I must go," he said suddenly and turned, quickly leaving Christine alone.

She sat at the base of a large gargoyle, still absentmindedly rubbing her arms.

It seemed that Raoul had been right.

Christine's angel of music would indeed haunt them both until they were dead.

Footsteps brought her to her feet.

They were even.

Familiar.

Deadly.

"Who's there?" Christine's voice sounded panicked. "Please, reveal yourself!" She called into the darkness.

"_Do I need revealing, Christine?" _

It was just a voice, but it brought Christine to her knees.

"Angel…" She whispered, her heart slamming against her chest. "What endless longings echo in this whisper," she continued, reciting lines from a song he had written for her.

Silence.

She rose to her feet.

"Angel, my soul was weak, forgive me," she continued, her voice finding the melody. "Enter at last, master…"

The footsteps approached.

Out of the swirling mist came a figure. It moved determinedly towards her…

Until she was in full view of him.

Her breath hitched on a sob.

"Erik…" she choked. "But you're dead."

Erik smiled, halting in his procession, his dark cape settling around his long, muscular form.

"Angels cannot die, Christine," he replied lyrically, his tongue rolling around her name.

For a moment neither moved. Neither spoke. Tears flowed steadily down Christine's face.

"Am I mad," she wondered aloud. "Is this real?"

She moved towards him, stopping about a foot away. His breath was coming as harshly as hers. He was looking down at her, his eyes nearly obscured by the dark lashes outlining the lids. His strong chest rose and fell evenly.

He watched as Christine's thin arm rose, her hand coming close to him.

And landing on his cheek.

His eyes slid closed for a moment. He could hear Christine sobbing freely; the realization that Erik was alive was too much for her body to withhold.

He let her small palm cup his cheek for a moment before opening his eyes again.

He saw her damp face, her red-rimmed eyes.

He saw her full mouth, slightly parted in silence.

He saw her hair, full around her small face.

Memories began to flood his mind.

She left you. She left you. She left you.

Erik pulled away from her, trying to silence the voice chanting in his head. He regarded her.

So she had not married the boy after all.

When he had heard Raoul reveal that fact, he had clutched at his heart. The elation he felt had been short lived, however, when Raoul had professed his love.

Erik had sensed the man's desperation; it was a feeling Erik himself was all too familiar with.

He knew what it felt like to hold Christine close to him.

To feel her lips on his own.

His jealously had almost won out on his understanding when Erik saw the flash of fear cross Christine's face as Raoul held her arms.

But just as Erik was about to pounce, rapier in hand, Raoul had released his hold, exiting quickly.

Erik knew that the boy's desperation could only be stifled for so long.

After all, one man obsessed differs little from the next.

She was staring at him, waiting for him to speak, to explain why he was here…to explain the tombstone bearing his identification.

_She left you. She left you. She left you. _

"Why have you agreed to this performance," Erik demanded suddenly. Christine backed up slightly at the sound of his sharp tone.

"I…I would do anything to preserve this opera," she replied, her voice quiet.

"But why this…why agree to _this_?" He rounded on her, moving close once again.

Christine gasped.

"Do you seek to _mock_ me, Christine?" Erik growled. "Do you seek to _humiliate _me by performing Don Juan? Is this another part of the punishment you presented to me when you _left me to die in the putrid bowels of this place_!"

He had pinned her against a statue, his eyes wild, his face inches from her own. Her breath was coming in desperate gasps.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she offered helplessly. "I'm not trying to do any of those things…"

"You can so _easily_ relive this performance, Christine?" Erik asked lowly. "You can block out the memories of you and I… together on that bridge…"

He paused to touch a gloved hand to her hair.

"To be able to live it again…to be able to sing those words to another man," his voice pleading. He looked deep into her eyes, breaking her heart. "Did it all mean so _little_ to you, Christine?"


	8. Unanswered Questions and Oceans of Tears

**_I usually hate stories with short chapters, but this is how it's going so this is how it's gonna be! I imagine they will become longer as we get a little deeper into the story. _**

**_One reviewer pointed out that the movie messed up the order of events as they coincide with the play and asked how I plan to correct that. Well, like I said in chapter one, I've been a Phantom fan for a while...definately prior to the movie. I still think, however, that the movie was beautifully done, especially as far as casting is concerned. I think I'm just going to continue on this path, drawing inspiration from all of the story's forms. We'll see what happens._**

**_Sorry for the long speech...on we go:)_**

His mouth was impossibly close to hers.

She could feel his ragged breath on her cheeks, his question hanging over their heads.

"That night," Christine began, her voice a gasping whisper, "that night impacted me in ways you'll never understand."

Erik scoffed, looking down at her menacingly. "Really," he drawled in his lilting accent. "Tell me, Christine. How did it affect you? How long did it force you to wait before you lay naked beside that _boy_?"

Christine winced under his harsh words. "Stop it, Erik," she whispered.

"No, no, my dear," he spat the endearment. "Let's hear how terrible it has been for you…let's hear how _unfortunate_ the subsequent years have been for _you!_"

He moved away suddenly, the pressure of his body gone, causing Christine to fall to her knees once more, sobbing.

"You know _nothing _of me," Christine rasped. "You don't know the about the nights filled with oceans of my tears…of my pain…"

Erik turned, furious. "Don't dare speak to me of pain!"

Christine raised her voice to match his. "You weren't the only one left in the darkness that night!" She shrieked.

Erik remained silent.

Christine lowered her head, unable to suppress the sobs racking her small frame.

He walked over to her slowly, closing his eyes as he stood above her.

After a moment, he sank to his knees, encircling the small woman within his arms.

Christine sank into the embrace. She inhaled his scent deeply, her sobs intensifying once more.

Despite himself, Erik smoothed her hair, stroking calmly.

"I thought you were dead…I thought I had lost you…" Christine was repeating mindlessly.

"My angel…my love…" Erik responded, loving her.

Regardless of sanity.

Regardless of where they were coming from.

Regardless of where they would end up.

Seeing her again, feeling her in his arms…it had been a balm to his open wounds.

But those wounds were far from healed…and the chanting, taunting voice in his head was ripping the loose stitching open once more.

_She left you_.

He moved away, leaving her cold once more.

She looked up at him, his tall, muscular frame outlined against the soft night sky's lighting.

"Who is in the grave, Erik?" She asked quietly. He looked down at her but did not respond.

"How did you escape that night?" She asked again, rising to her feet.

He remained silent.

"How is it that you are here, now, standing before me?"

"Why should I answer these questions!" He roared in an explosion of his deep voice. Christine bit her lip. "Am I to believe you care for me _now_, Christine? It's too late! You made your choice!"

"You sent _me _away with him, Erik! Have you forgotten?" Christine shouted back, surprised at the passion in her voice, which had been dead for so long.

He moved close to her suddenly. She shrunk back, afraid of being struck.

When he realized she thought he meant to hit her, he stopped in his tracks.

"You always had a _choice_," he spat. "And the choice has been made…and now you must _live with it._"

Christine's eyes fell in sorrow, his words crushing her more fiercely than any physical blow.

He glared down at her, at the top of her shining curls. Her shoulders were shaking with silent sobs.

His heart screamed for him to embrace her once more, to soothe her hurt, to kiss away the pain his words had inflicted.

But as his heart won before, the voice won out now.

_SHE LEFT YOU. SHE WILL LEAVE YOU ONCE MORE. YOU ARE ALONE. _

He turned on his heel, leaving a sobbing Christine alone in the moonlight.

* * *

Raoul's blood felt as if it was about to escape through every pore in his body.

That _monster_…that _thing_ had touched her. Had held her in his arms.

And she had allowed it! She had permitted his hands on her body!

_Her body that was supposed to have been mine!_ Raoul thought, his hands clenching into fists.

From his vantage point, just behind a large statue of a twisted Greek God in the throws of death, he had seen everything. Heard everything.

She was weeping for the masked man she had called Erik.

_How many tears have you wept for ME, Christine? How many have I wept for YOU?_

Raoul's mind was racing, pounding under the roar of blood in his veins.

He watched as Christine moved slowly to the roof exit, still sobbing quietly.

Raoul's mouth twisted into a thin line of frustration and anger.

It seemed the Opera Ghost had returned.

And he was actually no more then a man.

A man…flesh and blood…

Raoul smiled, an evil, twisted expression on a once docile, kind face.

Flesh and blood could easily be destroyed.


	9. The Mad Miss Daee

**_Boo to me...another short chapter...but there is a reason this time..._**

**_The next chapteris turning out a bit racy. I'm not above being a little smutty...:) I may have to post it under the "R" heading. I'm not through writing it at the moment, but we'll see what happens. _**

**_In the meantime, let's see what Andre is yelling about..._**

"Dammit, Firmin, I will _not _keep my voice down!" Andre cried, running his hands through his frizzy hair in frustration. "_It's all gone!"_

"Yes, we've established that, Andre." Firmin replied, somewhat more restrained. "But announcing to all of Paris that we have managed to lose every single scrap of paper that contained even a _note _of Don Juan Triumphant won't help the situation any…"

"We didn't lose _anything. _The manuscripts were obviously _stolen. _This is all that Christine Daee's fault…she's behind this," Andre continued to fume. "She didn't want to perform and now she will get her wish…"

Firmin sighed. "Can you blame her, Andre? The last time she performed Don Juan the poor child was nearly taken away forever by…_him_. It's a miracle she managed to escape." He regarded Andre for a moment. "Besides, old friend. She is the biggest name to grace the Opera Populaire's stage in the past three years…without her I fear we would be far more worse for the wear…"

"I don't care, Firmin. Christine Daee..." he scoffed her name. "You know, Firmin…I had rather hoped she would not become another diva…another Carlotta…but it seems she is just as manipulative…just as _selfish…_"

"Messieurs," Christine's sharply toned voice caused both men to turn. She emerged from the heavy velvet curtains, walking slowly onto the stage to face them. She was dressed in all black, her hair loose around her face.

Dark circles had formed under her eyes, making her appear frailer than she was.

She looked as if she had not slept in months.

"Is there something I should know about?" Christine asked.

The managers exchanged nervous glances.

"Of course not, Mademoiselle," Andre purred, his voice carrying none of the venom it had possessed just moments ago.

"You're lying," Christine replied, staring at him stonily.

"Mademoiselle Daee," Firmin stepped in front of his partner. "There _is _a minor problem…nothing to be concerned about…just a small detail really…"

Christine cleared her throat.

"It seems, Mademoiselle, that some of the manuscripts have been…misplaced…" Firmin said gently.

"Some?" Christine asked.

"Alright, all," Firmin conceded. Christine nodded.

"Do you know where they are?" Andre asked, his voice slightly more tense.

"Andre, please," Firmin interjected. feeling as if the man's last statement sounded more like an accusation than a question.

Christine merely continued to glare. "No, sirs. I can assure you _I _had nothing to do with the disappearance of Don Juan Triumphant." She said evenly.

Andre slapped his thigh in frustration. "We're doomed, Firmin! Doomed! Again! I'm too young to be bankrupt!"

"Andre, please get a hold of yourself," Firmin admonished.

"Perhaps, gentlemen, you have invited a bit of the Opera Ghost back into the Opera Populaire," Christine said suddenly, causing a chill to run down both men's spines.

"Don't be ridiculous, Miss Daee," Andre interrupted.

"Is it ridiculous Monsieur?" Christine snapped back. "He has accepted your invitation, dear Managers. Things are in his hands now…"

"She's mad," Andre proclaimed loudly.

"_Andre..._" Firmin hissed.

"Well, it's true!" Andre protested. "She speaks of ghosts…of a _man,_" he emphasized the word, "Who has been dead for three years!"

"You will not speak of him as such," Christine said through clenched teeth.

"Alright, alright," Firmin said, laughing nervously. "Let's all just calm down…this has been a trying experience for us all. Perhaps we were too quick to allow the ghosts of the past to revisit so soon."

Christine laughed.

It was a hollow, empty sound.

"Are you alright, Miss Daee?" Firmin asked, genuinely concerned. How different this woman appeared; how old and worn, carrying none of the sparkle of her youth.

He was beginning to think that madness was not such an elusive possibility.

She turned to look at him. "I believe your manuscripts will be returned to you," Christine said suddenly. "I just pray the terms are ones we can all live by."

And with that, she walked off the stage, leaving the two managers of the Opera Populaire to their assumptions.


	10. Giry's ConfessionDown Once More

**_Hm. Well, this is still PG-13. _**

**_Also, I PROMISE that this is an Erik/Christine tale. It's just...well...taking a while. I gotta build up a plot here, people:) I apologize in advance for any spelling/grammar errors...I had emailed this chapter to myself from work and sometimes yahoo likes to F with my writing! _**

**_Enjoy..._**

* * *

Christine walked through the maze of hallways leading back to her newly appointed room.

How cold this place felt, how reminiscent of things she could not change.

Suddenly, a hand clamped on her shoulder.

Christine shrieked, the sound carrying throughout the theater.

She spun around to see Madame Giry.

"Christine, my child, I did not mean to frighten you" the older woman said. Christine placed a hand to her heart in relief.

"No, it's alright" she replied, catching her breath. "I suppose I'm just slightly on edge."

Mme Giry nodded. "I thought you might be" she said. "The managers are asking much of you...it is a shame you don't have more...support."

She was staring into Christine's eyes knowingly.

"Yes, well, they are just trying to do what's best for the Opera..." Christine said nervously.

"And who is doing what's best for you, my dear" Mme Giry pressed, raising an eyebrow.

Christine held the woman's gaze for a moment. "It seems, Madame, that I have only myself to rely upon" she replied.

Mme Giry smiled. "Is that so, Christine"

The young diva nodded. "It is a lesson I learned...some time ago."

"Some lessons require re-learning." Mme Giry placed a cool hand to Christine's cheek sympathetically. "And that requires a teacher" she added cryptically and then turned from her.

"Madame Giry" Christine called after her. The matron turned. "When did you become aware he was still alive"

Madame Giry smiled again.

"I've known longer than anyone" she replied. "After all, it was I who invited him back."

She motioned for Christine to follow her.

* * *

His lair, if you could still call it that, was in shambles. It seemed that after the fire, there had been no visitors to the seat of sweet music's throne.

It was dank; the air seemed suffocating. Erik wondered how he had managed to spend almost an entire lifetime in this place.

Then he realized that his expensive mansion differed little from the bowels of the Opera Populaire.

He had been surprised to find that the small boat he had crafted still waited for him on the shores of the icy lake, across from where he used to dwell.

Drifting across the body of water had sent memories bubbling in Erik's soul-memories he had quickly suppressed, not ready to face them.

But he could not eradicate the echoing sound of _her _voice. The walls seemed to drip with it, with the songs they sang, with her admiration of him...with her fear.

It seemed he would have to tolerate the sound if he planned to remain here.

Not forever, he reminded himself. This was no longer his prison; he was a free man with land...a home...

But he could not leave the Opera Populaire now, not when he had managed to resurface as the Opera Ghost.

He glanced down at the papers he had placed on a toppled desk.

Stealing the manuscripts had been simple enough...he knew that the managers would not take care of such precious scripture. He knew that all of the copies to be found would be sitting in the orchestra pit, waiting for the next rehearsal of the musicians who would ultimately...if not haphazardly...bring his creation to life.

And so he had stalked onto the stage in the middle of the night, breathing deep the smell of Christine which still lingered in the air.

He had looked up to his beloved box five, which also seemed void of human life.

Perhaps everything he had touched while here had died...like Midas's touch, only crueler.

A scrap of white cloth at his feet drew him from his thoughts.

He bent at the waist, picking up the material.

It was frayed, dirty and wet, but he recognized it instantly.

And so did Christine.

"There was a part of me that was proud to wear that veil" her voice echoed off the dripping walls.

There she stood, in water up to her knees at the great gates that separated his former home from the outside world.

And from those who meant to do him harm.

"Why are you here" he demanded, his voice harsh.

Christine said nothing, but continued to glare at him.

"How did you find your way" He asked.

"There are those who have always known of your true existence, Erik" Christine replied.

Realization struck him.

Madame Giry.

"She was a fool to have given you directions" Erik dismissed her. "There is nothing down here for you."

Christine, despite the strength she had felt during her descent to his lair, felt tears form on her eyelashes.

His words were infused with a hatred...with a pain she knew she herself had inflicted.

"Erik, please" she said softly. "Open the gate."

He held her stare for a moment longer. Then he sighed, pushing the crude mechanism that still lifted and lowered the steel bars of the gate.

She backed up, keeping her eyes on him as the creaking barrier lifted slowly.

It stopped with a loud noise, causing Christine to jump, her breath coming heavily.

He stood just twenty or so feet from her on the shores of what was once his home.

He was without his cape and vest. His crisp, white shirt stood out starkly against all of the gray and black of this underground maze.

His shirt was rolled up to his elbows, revealing muscular forearms and ungloved hands.

His black as pitch hair hung slightly in his face, apparently disturbed by his venture across the underground lake.

And the mask he wore...the mask that defined him...the mask that she had taken from his face on two occasions...it was there, gleaming, defying her..._daring _her to move closer.

She began treading through the water, her heavy black skirts soaking up the liquid.

Her feet were numb inside of her delicate slippers. How water could be this cold and not freeze was a mystery to Christine.

When she was finally before him on shore, she raised her eyes to his.

"Why have you taken the manuscripts" She asked boldly.

Erik laughed darkly. "Why shouldn't I have? They are mine."

Christine shook her head. "What are you planning"

Erik just continued to stare at her. The black dress she wore was plain, but it did little to mask her beauty, even if her eyes were smudged with black marks from lack of sleep.

And even if her lips were blue from the cold.

Cursing under his breath, he lifted his cape from beside the manuscripts and placed it over her shoulders in one fluid motion.

Enveloped in the scent of him, Christine instantly warmed. "Thank you" she said quietly. He nodded curtly.

Touched by his out of character kind gesture, Christine felt bolder.

"Erik" she began. "I know how much Don Juan Triumphant means to you..."

He scoffed.

"But you can rest assured that the managers are merely trying to bring back the success that once was the Opera Populaire" she continued, ignoring him. "I'm imploring you to give me the manuscripts."

He stared at her. "Am I to believe you are asking a _favor_ of me, Christine"

Christine swallowed hard.

"Do you really think I owe you _anything_" He pressed, moving closer to her.

"But why take them, Erik? Why not have your masterpiece performed..." she paused. "This time in its entirety"

Erik visibly stiffened.

He took another step closer to her, placing his bare hand on her cheek. Her eyelids involuntarily fluttered closed.

His heart wrenched.

"How can I relinquish these pages" he breathed, moving his hand to her neck. "How can I hear these notes...hear _your _voice repeating the words that have infected my mind for the past three years..."

Tears were slipping down her face.

"You simply ask too much of me, my dear" he concluded. "I wrote this for you...for _us_...and when you refused me, you refused these words..." He held up the worn manuscripts. "They no longer hold true...this is an illusion...a dream..."

He lips were a breath away from hers.

"A nightmare..." he finished.

She tipped her head up, brushing his lips with her own on accident.

Erik could bear it no longer. He took her in his arms, crushing her to his tall frame. She let out a cry as his lips crashed down on hers.

He moved his lips against hers, taking advantage of her willingness.

Erik and Christine's first kiss had been chaste; it had been a gesture of pure emotions from Christine.

This kiss was different.

Her hands were locked about his neck, his around her waist, moving up to grasp her neck as he intensified the kiss.

When he slipped his tongue within her mouth, she received him eagerly, sweeping her own against his.

The sensation caused Erik to lose control.

He growled, pulling her even closer to him, just about crushing her with pure want.

Christine allowed her hands to explore his broad shoulders, his muscular back. Her nails dug through the cloth of his shirt, causing Erik to inhale sharply into her mouth.

_She doesn't love you._

_She wants the manuscripts, nothing more. _

_She cares for this place because of the boy. _

_Because of what they were when they were here together. _

The voices were back, swirling around Erik's head.

_SILENCE! _He commanded them, allowing his hands to begin working the intricate buttons at the back of her gown.

_She will leave once she has what she wants. _

_No one can love you. _

_Monster. _

_Thing. _

"DAMN YOU" Erik cried, pulling away.

Christine gasped as he left her embrace, her gown undone to her waist, exposing the thin chemise beneath.

He stood before her, panting, his eyes glassy.

Fear crept into her heart.

"Damn you" he repeated. "Siren! Harlot"

"Erik..." Christine pleaded, crying again.

"You think you can manipulate me...use me...all for the sake of your precious Opera" Erik reeled at her.

"What are you talking about" Christine gasped.

"YOU THINK I AM A FOOL" Erik continued to rant. "You want this..." He lifted the manuscripts. "Who sent you, Christine...Who? Was it your beloved? Was it RAOUL"

The sound of Raoul's name on Erik's lips almost broke Christine in half.

"I am not a pawn in your little game, Christine" he said, his breathing harsh and wicked. "If Don Juan Triumphant is to return to the stage it will be done so on _my _terms...and not the terms defined by a woman who has resorted to seducing the wretched Phantom of the Opera"

Christine clutched at her heart. "That's not why I am here...Erik..." She moved closer to him, reached a hand to him, only to have it knocked out of the way by Erik. "How long will you punish me, Erik" She demanded. "How long must I suffer for things _I cannot change?_"

She was shrieking, her voice unearthly and wholly hurt.

Erik stared at her for what seemed an eternity.

"Tell me, Christine, why do you only wear black? Are you in mourning for the marriage that failed before it began" He asked out of nowhere.

"Be quiet" Christine whispered.

"Will you run to him now? Will you run and tell him the horrors you met in this labyrinth? Will he hunt me down and spill my blood"

"Stop it" Christine wept.

"Will you take him in your arms and weep for him...plead with him to take you back...to love you...I believe he still would, Christine...even after you handed him the same punishment you were so _generous_ to bestow upon me three years ago"

"I shouldn't have come here" Christine sobbed. "You were right. There is _nothing_ down here for me. Just the dark, and the man who adores it."

Erik pressed his lips into a thin line as Christine began to trudge back into the water, leaving his cape in a heap on the shore.

As she passed through the gates, she looked back at him.

Memories...she...Raoul...a boat...a song...

The last time he had seen her.

"Why do I wear black, Erik" She called to him, her voice strong. "Because I was _mourning you_. Your false death...your false love." She stared at him, her heart tearing from her chest. "It seems I will wear black forever."

And with that, she left him, alone...in the dark.


	11. The Chapel

**_Hey, I must like you guys. Two updates in one day!_**

**_It's a short one, but that's ok. Now we're getting places. _**

**_-Nico_**

* * *

She lit another candle, bringing the light up in the chapel to a soft glow. She crossed her self and settled onto the stone floor, staring up at the Virgin Mary as she had so many nights in her childhood. 

"Father," Christine whispered, her voice reverberating eerily off of the stained glass and stone walls. "If you've never heard me before, hear me now."

She inhaled deeply, suddenly afraid.

"Please, Father," she continued. "My world has been toppled. Three years, Father. I lived without my angel in misery for three years…"

A sob hitched her words.

"I am all alone, Father…and I am frightened," she whispered, breaking down in tears once more.

And that was how Raoul found her.

"Christine," he murmured, his heart moved at the sight of her. He approached her.

She looked a fright.

And she was sopping wet.

"What happened, my darling?" Raoul asked her, markedly concerned. "Why are you crying?"

Christine looked up at him, standing above her, his voice soft and gentle.

How similar he looked to the young boy who used to chase her in his father's vineyards.

How long ago that was.

"I'm fine, Raoul." Christine stood slowly, wiping her eyes and adjusting her hair self-consciously.

"You certainly don't _look _fine," Raoul countered, removing his long duster and placing it around her shoulders.

He regarded her; placed his hands on her shoulders. "What happened, Christine," he implored, his voice a bit deeper.

"Nothing, Raoul. I was lost in my thoughts…"

Raoul's eyes darkened.

He moved his hands away, staring at her.

"And what thoughts could have driven Little Lottie to tears," he asked coldly.

Christine looked at her ex-fiancé. He seemed to love her so much.

And he was such a comfortable face; so familiar.

She had always been able to trust Raoul.

What she said next tumbled from her mouth before she could stop it.

"He's back, Raoul."

Raoul turned from her, his face twisted into a mask of fury.

_Him. She was lost in thoughts for him!_

_She wept for him STILL. _

"And have you seen him, Christine," Raoul asked, doing a good job of keeping his voice void of the anger coursing through his veins.

Christine picked up on it anyway.

She bit her lip.

She didn't want to hurt him anymore.

"No," she replied softly. "I have not."

Raoul closed his eyes.

_LIES! She means to protect this INHUMAN THING!_

His mind was reeling.

He felt as if he might be sick.

And so, Raoul finally realized, he was not her first choice.

_But we were meant to be…we are meant to be!_

Raoul quelled the voices in his mind and forced a plastic smile on his face before turning back to face Christine.

The sight of him frightened her.

His face looked strange, as if he was withholding a great torrent of bile that had gathered in his mouth.

A line of sweat had broken out on his brow.

His breathing was strained.

_Something is wrong_, Christine thought.

"You have nothing to fear, Christine," Raoul said, sounding weak. "I'm certain you are incorrect."

He moved closer to her, moving until Christine had backed up against one of the walls.

Raoul leaned in to her.

"There is no Opera Ghost," he continued. "Just a man, like any other man…a man not so different from the man before you."

Christine swallowed. "Raoul, stop, you're frightening me."

"You fear _me_?" He questioned. "I have done nothing but protect you, love you…save you from yourself!"

"Raoul stop," Christine repeated, trying to avoid Raoul's eyes, which were burning with anger.

"Why couldn't you love me, Christine? I would never have stopped providing for you…for our children…for our future…"

"I'm sorry, Raoul…truly, I am…I just couldn't…I couldn't..." Christine started to move away from him.

He grabbed her arms as he had on the roof, yet this time his fingers felt like vice grips, immediately stopping the flow of blood to her hands.

"Why, Christine!" He shook her. "Tell me why!"

"Because I was in love with _him_!" She shrieked suddenly.

"I believe you have your answer, Monsieur!" A cold, booming voice suddenly interrupted Raoul and Christine's exchange.

Raoul looked over to the sound.

There stood Erik, dressed from head to toe in black.

A silver rapier rested in his right hand at his side.

He was staring at Raoul, a murderous glare that sent waves of panic through Christine's very soul.

"Pardon me?" Raoul asked, his voice sounding dry.

"I said I believe she answered your question. Now if you'll be so kind as to remove your hands from Miss Daee, I will not have to subject her to the horror of witnessing your death."


	12. The Chapel, Part Two

**_How wonderful all your reviews have been! _**

**_I find them so interesting, especially those of you who are having a little bit of trouble accepting that Raoul has gone a little...well...evil. _**

**_Let me just say that a lot can happen in three years. Look at how badly the Phantom needed Christine...and how devestated he was when she refused him. Why shouldn't Raoul react the same way? Plus, how much do we REALLY know about Raoul to begin with? Who's to say he isn't just as messed up emotionally as everyone else in the Opera Populaire?_**

**_I think a lot of you will see where I'm going after this chapter...I can't please everyone, but I am definately open to your constructive comments! Thank you so much!_**

* * *

****

Raoul stared at the masked man before him, unable to speak.

Not since the man placed a noose around his neck had Raoul been this close to him.

And now, he was there, mere feet from Raoul and Christine, a deadly, piercing gaze emitting from his eyes.

For several moments, no one spoke.

The rapier at Erik's side twitched slightly.

Raoul loosened his grip on Christine, removing his right hand from her left arm, but keeping her right arm locked within his grasp.

"Erik," Christine breathed, wholly surprised to see her would be rescuer so soon after she had hurled cold, dark words at him.

"I will ask you once more to release her," Erik warned, stepping closer to the duo. Raoul grimaced.

"Release her? To _you?_" Raoul asked, scoffing. He placed his free hand at the his own sheathed rapier. "I'd sooner die," he spat.

"That can be arranged," Erik replied, moving closer once more.

"Raoul, stop it," Christine implored, trying to shake herself free of his grasp. Raoul looked down at her.

"Why should I stop, Christine?" Raoul asked, his voice sounding hurt. "Why shouldn't I kill this demon where he stands?"

Erik smiled. "I believe that question was already answered by Miss Daee."

Raoul suddenly released Christine, pushing her back and turning to face Erik.

"Erik, is it?" Raoul asked, drawing his sword. "Someone actually took the time to name you before they threw you away?"

"Raoul!" Christine gasped at his harsh words.

"What have you done to her, you hellish _manipulator_," Raoul continued, lifting his sword. "How have you tricked her into protecting you?"

Erik lifting his sword to meet Raoul's. "You should know your ex-fiancee by now, boy. The decisions she makes are her own."

Erik's last statement was obviously hinting at the decision Christine made to end her engagement to Raoul, and it enraged the young man. He advanced fiercly on Erik, thrusting his weapon directly at his heart.

Erik blocked the attempt easily.

The two men circled each other for a moment, Raoul's face twisted in anger, Erik's bearing a smirk.

"Please, stop it," Christine wailed, hating the feeling of being helpless.

Raoul ignored her, thrusting at Erik again, this time grazing Erik's arm.

It was not a deep wound, but it was enough to start a crimson river's flow down Erik's arm.

Christine gasped as blood began to drip down her angel of music's arm, over his fingertips, and onto the chapel floor.

Raoul smiled.

"It seems I have now _proven_ you are nothing but a man," he said, lowering his sword to his side, his guard down. "And not a very impressive one at that."

Christine could bear it no longer. She moved quickly, too quickly for Raoul to tighten his grip on the steely blade he held in his hand.

To both mens' surprise, Christine lifted the weapon, holding it incorrectly, but menacingly.

"That is enough," she said angrily.

"Christine, put it down," Raoul commanded.

"I will not," she replied. Raoul moved closer to her.

"Put it down Christine!" Raoul repeated, his voice rising.

Erik stood, watching the exchange, ready to intercept in a heartbeat.

Christine's hand was shaking.

"Leave us, Raoul," she said, her voice low. Raoul looked from her to Erik.

"You're not serious, Christine!" Raoul protested.

"Oh yes I am," she replied, her voice sounding strong.

"Have you forgotten who this man _is?" _Raoul yelled. "Have you forgotten how you wept in my arms in this very chapel...how you spoke of the dread he filled you with...how he _manipulated you_! How he used your fondest memories of your father to control you!"

Erik stiffened.

"Don't speak another word!" Christine shrieked.

"He has you under his spell," Raoul fumed. "I don't know how he has done it...I don't know what would inspire you to choose to protect this man who is hardly a man at all! After all he has done to you...to us! After all the evil he propegated...you have lost your mind, Christine!"

"Stop it!" Christine cried, unable to stand the vivid memories flooding back into her mind. She dropped the rapier, the clanging noise deafening as it hit the stone floor.

As Raoul stooped to retrieve the fallen weapon, Erik's rapier found the younger man's throat.

Raoul froze.

"Erik," Christine whispered, moving to him, placing a hand on the arm that held the blade.

He turned to look at her.

Her eyes were pleading.

"No," she said softly.

Erik looked down at Raoul, who was in turn looking at him with rage, contempt, and hatred.

"Erik," she whispered again.

Erik lowered his sword, staring only at Christine...

who actually smiled.

The air held thin, the emotions of the three people in the room suspended, hanging somewhere above their heads.

Raoul saw the pause as his opportunity.

He reached down.

Grabbed the Rapier.

Lifted it with a howl.

And thrust.

Christine moved at the last minute, pulling Erik's weapon from hisunsuspecting hand.

The next few seconds stretched into an eternity, changing their lives forever...

Christine barely felt the steel enter her arm. Instead she was staring at the right side of Raoul's face, which was now covered in oozing blood.

She dropped the weapon again.

Raoul fell into an unconscious heap.

Christine looked at Erik, her black dress now even darker with the color of her own blood.

"What have I done?" She whispered, her eyes wide.

"Christine..." Erik replied, still in shock and weak from his own blood loss.

"What's going on down here?" A male voice called out from the stairwell.

Andre and Firmin entered the chapel, having heard the commotion.

Only Raoul remained.

"Monsieur!" Andre gasped, rushing to Raoul's side. "Monsieur, what has happened?"

Raoul's eyes fluttered open. A deep gash was visibly pumping blood down his pale face. "He's back..." Raoul gasped. "He has assaulted me and taken Christine..."

Then, he passed out.


	13. Deception

**_Seriously, you guys are too, too kind! Thank you so much for the encouragement. _**

**_I know how we all love long, in depth chapters, but sometimes short ones are much more important..._**

**_Sorry, no Erik in this chapter! _**

**_Just so you all know, I plan to keep this pace of 1 to 2 chaps a day. I'll usually post them both in the evening hours (new york time) but every once in a while, you guys motivate me to post at work...let's hope the boss doesn't find out!_**

**_-Nico_**

* * *

****

"I will not rest until he is found…he means to do Miss Daee serious harm!" Raoul winced as Madame Giry pulled a threaded needle through the wound on his face a bit more roughly than necessary.

"Pardon, Monsieur," she said softly.

"Oh, Firmin," Andre wailed in his typical melodramatic voice. "Everything was going so well…and now this…now _him!_"

"I want police at every door of the Opera; I want them every five feet for a ten mile radius!" Continued Raoul.

Firmin regarded his patron. The young man's face would be badly scarred. The jagged, deep gash ran from just above his eyebrow down his cheek.

He had been lucky he had not lost his eye.

His eyes.

Firmin noticed how they darted, how they were streaked with red lines that were surely not a new feature to the otherwise crystalline blue iris.

Something about the story the Viscount had relayed to himself, Andre, and the three police officers present seemed off.

"Excuse me, Monsieur De Changy," the stoutest police officer said, his voice all but quivering. "After this man…Erik you called him…after he pulled Mademoiselle Daee from your grasp, you say he attacked you?"

Raoul nodded, his eyes looking everywhere but at the officer.

"She was screaming for me…screaming for me to save her…and I could do nothing…" he said, manufactured tears springing to his eyes.

"We do apologize for having to make you relive this, Monsieur," another officer interjected. "But the more you can tell us, the faster we can capture this man and see that he pays dearly for his crimes."

"Indeed," the first officer piped up. "He is still wanted for the murder of Joseph Buquet…and he must be held responsible for the deaths that occurred when…" he looked to the two managers, both pale as ghosts. "When the chandelier fell," the officer quickly finished.

"He is evil, and will stop at nothing to destroy both myself and Miss Daee," Raoul said, wincing again under the needle.

"And what, exactly, does he want with Christine Daee?" The officer pressed.

"What do all immoral men want from pretty young women, Monsieur?" Raoul countered, causing the officer to blush.

"Christine was once your fiancée, was she not?" The third officer, who had been quietly observing the entire scene since he arrived, asked.

Raoul looked sharply over to the officer, causing Madame Giry to scratch his already injured face with the needle. "Dammit woman!" Raoul barked.

Six pairs of eyes fell on him.

"Yes," Raoul breathed harshly.

"And you were not married?" The third officer pressed.

This man was beginning to get on Raoul's nerves.

_Why can I not escape those memories? _Raoul's mind raced.

Then he became thoughtful.

Devious even.

"We are not married," he said, his voice smoother. "Yet." He added.

Madame Giry, who had bowed her head after further injuring the Viscount, snapped to attention.

"You see, we had intended on making the announcement…at a later time," Raoul continued, now having everyone's attention. "Christine and I wanted to wait until the manuscripts were returned and all of the ghastly business was done away with."

"What are you saying, Monsieur?" Mme Giry asked, despite her rank in the room.

Raoul glared at her.

"I am saying, Madame Giry, that Christine has come to her senses, and decided that we will be married after all."


	14. Mending Wounds

**_I have the funniest reviewers around. You guys had me cracking up!_**

**_I knew the last chapter was going to make you guys LOATHE Raoul. Good. _**

**_To those Raoul fans out there, sorry, but he's in the dog house. He's not a great person in my story, primarily because if he was we'd have little to no conflict. Ha. _**

**_So, to make up for what we will from here after refer to as the "Raoul chapter," what follows is E/C goodness. _**

**_I also ask of you, my WONDERFUL readers, to read my addendum at the end of this chapter...and please reply in the review section..._**

**_-Nico_**

* * *

Erik handed the elderly carriage driver a large amount of gold coins concealed within a small cloth pouch.

"For your service," Erik explained. "And your silence."

The carriage driver peered into the small purse and smiled revealing several missing teeth.

"Thank you, Monsieur," he said in a crude accent.

Erik opened the carriage door.

Christine winced as she moved to exit, dizzy from loss of blood.

"Is she going to be alright?" The carriage driver asked. "Shall I bring a doctor?"

Erik considered that option for a moment. Both himself and Christine were wounded, but not mortally. He had patched himself up enough times to know how to ward off infection and illness.

Besides, the less attention he could bring to his gloomy mansion on the outskirts of Paris, the better.

"That will not be necessary," Erik replied finally.

He pulled Christine into his arms, lifting her small frame easily.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, too weak to try and stand on her own.

"Good day," Erik dismissed the driver, who nodded, too happy over his newly acquired fortune to stay.

Christine's eyes went wide as Erik carried her into his home.

He had told her where he was taking her once they had managed to commission the vagabond carriage driver.

The remainder of the carriage ride had been spent in silence; both Erik and Christine too exhausted and overwhelmed to speak.

Christine had replayed the last hour's events over and over in her mind.

She had wounded Raoul.

He would surely make her pay.

Her stomach rolled as she relived running through the maze of the Opera Populaire, her hand held tightly within Erik's who led the way with amazing speed, maneuvering the winding passageways from the chapel to daylight with the agility he acquired during his long stay within the theater.

"This...this is your home?" Christine asked, uncomfortable with the silence as Erik ascended an elaborate stone staircase.

"Yes," he replied, his voice soothing.

He brought her to his lavishly decorated library, a room he only entered for brief periods to retrieve a book, or more paper to scribble musical notes.

Even still, Christine could see several used brandy glasses scattered about the room.

He set her down gently on a red velvet chaise lounge, a gaudy piece of furniture but perfectly fitting the man in the mask.

Erik regarded her for a moment before moving to a cabinet.

"How do you feel," he asked, his back to her as he riffled through the cabinet's contents.

Christine considered his question.

She was cold from loss of blood, the evidence soaking the top of her dress.

She had possibly killed her ex-fiancé and ran off with that same man's sworn enemy.

She was reeling from the past few days' events.

But she was here.

With him.

And he was alive.

"Given the circumstances, I'm alright," she replied.

Erik turned to her. He had half expected her to break down again.

He did not expect to see her smiling upon his chaise lounge.

How beautiful she was, even now.

It stole his breath.

He cleared his throat and moved back over to her, the contents he had removed from his cabinet in his arms.

A white cloth, possibly an old shirt or napkin...silver scissors...a needle and thread...

And a carafe of amber liquid.

"Christine," Erik said, moving in front of her. "I fear what is about to happen will not be pleasant."

Christine nodded. Her wound would require stitching.

She had never had stitches before.

Fear crept into her heart.

Erik was pouring the amber liquid into a large, clean glass. "Brandy can be your savior, or your demon," he said, handing her the full glass. "I believe you will be ready to preach once you have felt its effects, in this situation."

Christine smiled.

She sniffed the liquid, grimacing at the pungent aroma.

She raised her eyes to Erik's. He nodded slowly, urging her to drink.

She took a deep breath, pinched her nose between her thumb and forefinger, and took an enormous gulp.

For a few moments, she thought she might be ill.

Erik backed up a step.

Then, something wonderful happened.

The deep throb that had been radiating down Christine's injured arm subsided slightly.

Warmth crept into her veins.

She sighed, reveling in the sensation.

"More," Erik instructed.

Christine's second gulp, which nearly finished the glass, went down much easier. The miracle liquid still burned as it passed down her throat, but she felt indescribably better.

Erik took the glass from Christine's lethargic hands.

He could tell by the haze in her eyes that the alcohol had begun to work.

Now it was just a matter of removing her clothing.

He cleared his throat again, wondering if he should take a swig of the brandy as well, just to relax his jumping nerves.

He decided against it, realizing that for this task, he would prefer to have all of his senses alert.

Christine was looking up at him.

"I suppose..." she began, her voice slightly slurred, but not too noticeably. "I suppose I need to take off this dress."

Erik nodded slowly, relieved that she had realized what was necessary before he had to inform her.

"Alright," she said, surprised by her willingness, but knowing it had something to do with the liquor she had just drank.

On uneasy feet she stood, grateful that Erik was there to grasp her elbow when she wobbled.

She shot him a smile.

_Why am I smiling so much? _Christine scolded herself. _After all that's happened, how can I possibly be smiling?_

She moved to undo the buttons at the front of her dress.

And then realized they were in the back, a line of more than a dozen tiny pearl buttons.

They had already been undone once since she had first dressed in the gown...

by him.

Erik was staring at her, realizing slowly that there was no way Christine could reach the back of her intricately designed dress with the injury to her arm.

He moved behind her, trying to ignore the scent of roses wafting from her body.

She felt his fingers begin to work, unable to suppress a shudder as she felt his fingertips move slowly down her back.

The moment stretched to infinity.

When he finally undid the last button, they both remained where they stood.

Slowly, carefully, he eased the gown from her shoulders, pushing it from her body until it landed in a pool of silk and lace at her feet.

He would have been unable to control himself in the presence of Christine in only her thin undergarments had there not been so much blood.

"God in heaven," Christine breathed, looking down at the large crimson stains covering more than half of her once white-as-snow chemise. She raised her eyes to Erik nervously.

"I'm sure it is not as bad as it appears," he said, trying to mask the concern in his voice. Indeed, there was more blood than he had expected, but he was also aware of just how much a superficial wound could bleed.

He carefully lifted the short sleeve of her chemise to better observe the wound.

It was deep, requiring stitches for certain, but it was not as bad as he feared.

Gently, he touched the torn flesh, thankful that it still bled.

This would do much to stave off infection.

Christine winced at the touch.

Erik eased her back on the chaise, not looking forward to the task before him.

He threaded the needle quickly, trying not to catch a glimpse of her frightened eyes.

"This will hurt," he said bluntly. "But I will work quickly."

Erik set to his task, keeping with his word.

Christine watched as he gingerly repaired her skin. He head was bowed, but she could still see the level of concentration on his face.

How gentle he was, how attentive to her pain.

She smiled again.

Erik was impressed by her courage. Not one sound did she make, even though he was certain she was in pain.

When he finished, she let out the breath she had been holding.

Erik smirked as he caught the heavy, familiar scent of brandy on her breath.

He looked up at her as he cut the thread from the needle. "You will live," he diagnosed.

"What of you?" Christine asked, the liquor making her bolder than usual. She stood to face him; her hands went to his black jacket, locking eyes with him as she eased it off of his body.

Her breath caught at her own actions.

Erik's wound was much less severe. A moderate amount of blood could be seen on his sleeve, yet Christine assumed the gash would not require stitches.

Of course, she wouldn't know until he removed his shirt.

Erik's eyes never left hers as she slowly raised her shaking hands and began to work the buttons running down the front of his expensive shirt.

Her small fingers moved slowly. She wasn't certain if that was because of the alcohol or her nerves.

At the moment, it didn't seem to matter.

When she had undone the last button, she raised her eyes to his once more.

He stood still, the visible side of his face filled with a strange emotion Christine could not identify.

He was daring her to continue, she realized.

Slowly, as if moving through water, she placed both of her hands on his broad, somehow tan shoulders.

And gently pulled the torn and bloodied shirt from his body, keeping it in her hands.

She was unable to stop herself from drinking in the sight of his shirtless, muscular torso.

Christine moved slowly to better inspect his wound.

She touched his shoulder softly.

The sensation was almost too much for Erik.

"How deep," he asked through clenched teeth.

"It isn't terrible," she replied, her voice not above a whisper. "It will just need to be wrapped."

She ripped a length of cloth from the clean part of his shirt and made quick work of bandaging his muscular bicep.

When she finished, she allowed her fingertips to graze his arm.

"Thank you," Erik replied, his mouth close to her ear.

Christine once more stood before him.

How scandalous, she thought. The two of them here, he without a shirt and she in her thin undergarments.

He was looking at her still.

"Do you still fear me, Christine?" He asked, his voice husky.

Christine did not reply.

"Do you wish to run from me now, to leave me once again in my solitude?"

Tears were again forming in Christine's eyes.

She shook her head.

"Why, Erik," she whispered. "Why did you pretend to be dead?"

The question caught him off guard.

But the burning in her eyes made him answer honestly, damn the consequences.

"Because I was dead, Christine," he said, reaching for her hand and placing it on his bare chest. "I was dead here, without you...without your song...without your..."

"Love?" Christine interrupted softly.

Erik let his eyes slide closed and reached for her, bringing her small body closer to his own...

* * *

**_Okay everyone. Whoo. Cold shower time.Even for me, and I wrote it! _**

**_I'm going to ask your opinions. From here, do we jump to an "R" rated situation? Or would you all prefer a pg-13 continuation? _**

**_You have one more chapter to decide. The next chapter will not continue with this scene, I don't think. _**

**_-Nico_**


	15. Raoul's Strange Keepsake and Erik's Assu...

**_I was WONDERING how long it would be before someone commented on the format of this story. _**

**_I expected the short sentences and lack of paragraphy (is that a word?) to annoy all of you from the start. I'm doing it on purpose. When I'm reading a Fic, sometimes, during long paragraphs, my mind wanders. Not because the fic is bad, but just because my attention span is rather short. So I decided to write this is small sentiments, statements, and descriptions. _**

**_I hope this does not take away from the story, although I see how it could have been aggravating in the last chapter. I'll try to be more conscious of the choppiness of the story, but I'm not promising everything. This is the way I'm writing this...sorry!_**

**_Aside from that, we've got E/C in this chapter, but it's not quite R yet...although I've heard you all loud and clear..._**

**_You love smut! j/k! _**

**_Now what's that daft Raoul up to?_**

* * *

****

Raoul slowly pulled off the gauze Madame Giry had wrapped around his head.

He kept his eyes closed for a moment.

Then he opened them, staring at the large mirror in his large bedroom.

The sight of his own face caused him to vomit.

Wiping his mouth, ignoring the mess on his floor, he glared at himself in the mirror.

More than thirty stitches ran down the length of his face.

The scar was going to be hideous.

He moved away from the mirror, feeling oddly numb.

Slowly, he moved to the far side of the master bedroom to where a safe lay inconspicuously within the wall, behind an oil painting he had never been quite fond of.

Clicking the lock to the appropriate code, Raoul swung the heavy door of the safe open.

Inside, lying amongst the thousands of dollars, jewels, and other precious family heirlooms was a mahogany box.

He lifted the box slowly with shaking hands.

He had not seen its contents in three years.

He took a breath as he opened the box.

There, gleaming as if no time had passed at all, was a white mask.

It was _Erik's_, given to Raoul by little Meg Giry, who had thought Raoul a hero following the events that transpired within the depths of the opera house the night the Phantom of the Opera had abducted Christine.

Raoul ran a shaking finger over the smooth, white surface of the mask.

It was freezing cold.

Despite himself, Raoul lifted the mask from the box and walked slowly back over to the mirror.

He stared at the hideous scar for a few more moments.

How could she have done this? How could Christine have actually injured _him_ while protecting the man she wished to escape for so long? How could she have left with him?

_Your blade pierced her skin as well, _a nagging voice reminded Raoul.

Slowly, he lifted the half-mask to his face.

* * *

Christine's relaxed in Erik's embrace, listening to the steady beat of his heart through his chest.

He had pulled her close to him and she had obliged.

They both needed this, the closeness, the comfort.

Erik's bare arms were tight around her body, his cheek resting on the top of her head.

How right this felt! How long had they both waited to stand here, in each other's arms with no ultimatums?

Christine's head was still swimming with the effects of the brandy she had just consumed. She had heard that alcohol could desperately change the way a person behaved and had seen her share of drunks behind the scenes at the Opera Populaire…

it seemed that the effects of the drink were the same on the once pristine Miss Daee.

She pulled from Erik slightly to better observe his masked face.

He was looking down at her, his breath deep and even.

Before she even realized what she was doing, Christine's hand went to the lower corner of Erik's mask.

He grasped her wrist, knowing what she was about to do.

"No," he whispered, shaking his head.

Christine's eyes softened and she offered him a small smile. She slowly caressed the visible side of his face with her hand, causing him to close his eyes.

Again she moved her hand to the mask.

This time, he did not resist, yet he opened his eyes.

She could see the fear.

Unhurriedly, she eased her fingertips beneath the surprisingly heavy mask…

And removed it.

The horror of his face, she realized, was not as terrible as her mind remembered.

True, it was a dreadful deformity. Thin, parchment-textured skin stretched out over almost the entire right side of his face, marring what would have been breathtakingly beautiful features.

Half of his nose was concave, seemingly collapsed under the stress of the disfigurement.

Yet, it wasn't as horrible as she remembered.

He was watching her, his breath tight in his chest.

She brought her hands to the back of his head, pulling his face gently down to the level of hers.

She kissed the twisted flesh lovingly, allowing her lips to travel from his forehead down to his lips slowly.

They kissed, a soft gesture of tender feelings.

Christine could taste Erik's tears on her mouth.

In her embrace, Erik felt himself being eased back down onto the velvet chaise.

All at once, he collapsed into a softly heaving mass, his face buried in her hair, his unmasked forehead resting on her shoulder.

Christine had never experienced such a powerful man succumbing to emotions she could not imagine.

He grasped her waist, muttering her name, pulling her closer.

He lifted his head, brining his eyes to meet hers, which were also damp with tears.

"Christine…" he breathed.

She kissed him in response, moving quickly against his lips.

Intense feeling began to bubble. Erik allowed his hands to roam across her body, memorizing each curve.

He waited for the voices in his head to return, but they remained silent.

Christine whimpered, pulling him down on top of her.

He stretched his body out, gently easing his weight on top of her.

She ran her fingers amorously down his back, reveling in the feeling of the muscular physique beneath.

She wriggled, the sensation causing Erik to hiss back a curse, her body moving beneath him causing him to experience shocks coursing through his veins.

Suddenly, he pulled back, afraid that if he didn't he would not be able to stop himself.

"What's wrong?" Christine asked, looking up at him with moist lips and hazy eyes.

He caught the scent of brandy on her breath again.

She was drunk, he remembered suddenly.

He moved off of her abruptly, running his hands through his hair in pent up tension, his back to her.

Christine sat up. What had she done wrong?

Erik cleared his throat. "I fear such…activities…may not be the wisest choice, considering the levels of injury in this room," he said, his voice sounding odd.

Christine wrapped her arms around herself.

He turned, looking at her as she sat nervously on the chaise.

He sighed, moving back to one of his desks. He pulled open a draw and retrieved a stack of yellowed pages.

Walking over to her, he kept his eyes downcast as he held out the papers to her.

She took them from him after a moment.

Christine gasped as she read the contents of the pages.

Don Juan Triumphant.

She looked up at him quizzically.

"Why are you giving these to me, Erik?" She asked suspiciously.

Erik regarded her.

"This is what you wanted," he replied. He glared at her, his eyes looking…

hurt.

"This is why you came to my lair…this is why you intercepted Raoul's sword, is it not?" He pressed, sounding terse.

It was her turn to look hurt.

"You think…" she began. "You think this is why I sought you out?" She asked, her voice rising. "You think _this _is why I have kissed you? Touched you?"

She stood, shaking.

Erik merely continued to stare.

Christine took a deep breath.

"Well I have news for you, Erik. I don't _care_ about the performance," she announced. "I don't care if the Opera Populaire falls victim to debt."

She was enraged, a combination of Erik's assumptions and the liquor.

"I only returned to grasp a small bit of the magic _you_ brought me! I wanted to remain within the walls of the Opera Populaire to feel you…to hear you…to recapture just a small amount of the light that you brought to me!" She raged at him.

"Light…" Erik scoffed.

"Yes, Erik! You are not a creature of darkness…you are _not _the thing you think yourself to be! You have a heart, you can love…" She was crying now.

She moved closer to him, reaching out to touch his face again.

He pulled away slightly.

"I suppose I have been foolish to think all of our wounds could be mended, Erik," she said softly. "And I have no way to prove to you that I am here for _you_…not for _this_." She held up the manuscripts.

Then she looked at the fireplace, a thoughtful expression forming.

"Or do I?" She asked.

She looked at him for a moment before stalking purposely over to the roaring fire.

She stood there, the glow of the blaze making her appear even smaller than she was.

An angel in hell.

"I love you, Erik. I have always loved you. And for no other reason than _because of the man you are._"

And with that, she flung the papers into the fire.


	16. Christine's Confrontation

**_Damn Nico! Look at you, posting before anyone even reviews your last chapter!_**

**_I was going to leave you all in suspense overnight, but I decided that was a bit too harsh, especially since this chapter literally brought tears to my own eyes. _**

**_How lame is that? Jeesh. I need to get out more. _**

**_I hope you're all enjoying this...I'd like to thank those of you who have been reviewing once more. It warms my heart to know that so many of you are enjoying this. (Hands out long stemmed roses to everyone and, for those of you over 21, a twisted tea.)_**

**_Now if you'll excuse me, my lame ass needs a kleenex..._**

****

* * *

****

Erik watched the papers turn to ash before his eyes. Christine stood in front of the fire, her eyes blazing…fearful…

He had known she was going to throw the papers in the fire before she did. He had known by the determined sway in her walk as she approached the fireplace. By the tone of her voice.

By the way he had insulted her by producing the manuscripts in the first place.

He could have stopped it, but he remained still, allowing Christine to go forward with her actions.

It had been his life's work; all moments leading up to the transcription of Don Juan Triumphant had produced the sensual melodies, the jarring script, the detailed costumes, the scenery.

And now it was gone, consumed by flames.

Christine had expected Erik to howl, to curse her, to slap her…to do _anything _in reaction to the destruction of Don Juan Triumphant besides what he was doing…

Standing stoically, watching the fire.

He himself had waited for the rage that would surely follow such a deviant act, but it never came. Instead he felt…release.

The black smoke that was surely billowing out of Erik's mansion carried with it all the heartache, all the hurt, all the _soul _Erik had poured into his opera.

He was a man released of at least one set of his shackles.

And she had spoken of love! Again! This time _knowing_ he was listening…_knowing _he wouldn't have missed her proclamation.

She stood, her chest heaving, her fingers clenched into tiny fists at her sides.

He approached her with a question he already knew she had answered.

"Why did you do that?" he asked rhetorically.

"You know why I did it, Erik. The words and notes on those pages are _mine _just as much as they are yours. I will not allow pieces of paper to come between us, to muddy the waters we are just beginning to clear." She took another deep breath. "I will not allow _anything _to do so."

Hardly anything can shock a man whose very existence shocked everyone around him. Yet Christine's words shook him, frightened him, and made his heart swell.

"I am no longer the frail, easily manipulated girl I once was, Erik," she was saying, dragging him from his thought. "Too long I have been a pawn, a mindless, following child with expectations that exceeded possibilities."

She walked closer to him, taking his hands in her own. "You asked before if I still feared you, Erik. And the truth is I do. I fear that if I walk out of your life once more without speaking these words, I will not be given a second chance. I fear that I will go to my grave never knowing what could possibly be, what sweet music we could have made without…" She blushed, averting her eyes. "Without quills and paper," she concluded softly.

They stood before the fire in silence, staring at each other hungrily. "I have opened my heart to you now, Erik. I know the past cannot be changed. I know I have hurt you, destroyed you even…driven you to murder and lie…" her breath hitched on a sob. "And I am not standing before you asking for forgiveness, nor am I here to forgive. But I am asking you to speak, to tell me what you think, what you feel…and where I am supposed to go from here."

And then, Christine Daee pulled her hands from Erik's and fell silent.

When he still did not speak, Christine assumed she had her answer. She nodded, tears spilling down her face.

Of course he would not forgive her for her torments.

She began to cross the room again, picking up the dress Erik had so easily removed.

Erik did not speak as she once again donned the garment and headed for the large doors.

Only when her hand touched the pewter door handle did she hear his voice, barely above a whisper.

"You will leave me…" he said, finally putting voice to the thoughts within his head.

Christine froze.

"You will leave me once more; the darkness…I cannot bear the darkness…"

She turned to see Erik leaning on the fireplace mantel.

"I cannot bear thoughts of you without you…I cannot quell the pain I feel without you beside me," he looked up at her. "I would die all over again. And one death in a lifetime is enough."

Christine's heart broke into a million pieces. She ran to him, slamming into his body in an embrace that caused sounds of joy, lust, hurt, and love to emit from the both of them.

They fell into a series of passionate, nearly painful kisses.

"I will _never_ leave you again…" Christine moaned in between kisses. "I cannot…the past three years I have been dead…my heart's first beat came when I saw you on the roof…when I heard your voice…your voice…"

Erik growled as he ripped the dress once more from her body sending the damned pearl buttons scattering across the cold floor.

"I love you…I love you…" Christine was sobbing, repeating over his head as he ran his tongue across his collarbone.

He lifted his head to look at her.

She was hysterical. "Say it," she commanded huskily. "Say it now or ruin me forever."

His tongue felt thick in his mouth.

She was staring at him, her face red and wet. "Say it Erik...say it as you said it that night so long ago."

Erik took a breath. "Christine…Christine…I love you."


	17. Release R RATED!

**_Thanks for all the reviews...I especially like the comments on the format. It seems a lot of you like it...good! I'm so glad! _**

**_Ok allyou horndogs...teehee...this chapter is rated R! I tried to do this tastefully, but you've been warned...it's R! If you don't want to read this, you don't have to. You won't miss out on too much of the plot. _**

**_-Nico_**

* * *

The words she had wanted to hear…_needed_ to hear…were finally spoken.

She locked eyes with the man before her, the fire casting shadows over the sloping muscles on his still naked chest.

It caused a stirring in the depths of Christine's stomach; a strange feeling she was completely unfamiliar with.

Having finally declared his love, Erik reached for the woman before him once more, taking in the sight of her.

He frowned as he realized she was still donning the bloodstained chemise.

Erik took her hand and began to lead her from the library.

"Erik, where are we…" Christine began to ask; disappointed that the moment they had been sharing needed to be interrupted.

Erik placed a finger to his lips.

Together, in tense, anticipatory silence, they walked the halls of the huge mansion. Erik's fingers pulsed around Christine's hand, a steady, beating motion that managed to cause Christine's blood pressure to rise.

She was an innocent, but she knew what transpired between a man and a woman. She had spent enough time with the ballet rats to hear (and see) enough to adequately inform her.

Yet she had never heard that the simple act of holding a man's hand could radiate such feelings.

They came to another impressive doorway. For a moment, Erik hesitated.

Christine sensed it and moved close to him, kissing him thoroughly, sucking his bottom lip a bit more intensely than was in her character, pulling his bottom lip between her own as she pulled away.

Erik flung open the doors.

Christine moved inside, bringing her hands to her mouth.

It was a bedroom, an amazing, silken bedroom.

Black and red silks, seemingly Erik's staples, hung from the high ceilings, the poster bed and covered the windows that were most assuredly stained glass.

Christine's eyes went to the large bed that was demanding her attention.

It was a pool of black silk.

She had never seen anything so inviting.

As she took in her surroundings, Erik lit a fire in yet another fireplace. She watched his muscles flex as he worked, throwing large logs into the mouth of the fire. Soon he was glistening from the heat of the licking flames.

Christine walked over to him, embracing him from behind.

Erik straightened.

She ran her lips across his back, savoring the salty taste of him. Erik's head fell back at the incredible sensations she was invoking within him.

Christine's fingertips dusted over Erik's shoulders, biceps and forearms as she continued her ministrations.

When he thought he could bear it no longer, he turned, pulling her roughly against his body.

Christine gasped involuntarily as she felt the hardness of him; evidence of his desire.

He dipped his head, capturing her lips with his own. His tongue was demanding, yet gentle.

Erik lifted her suddenly, cradling her in his arms, never breaking the passionate kisses they shared.

He carried her to the edge of the bed and broke the kiss.

He gazed down at the woman in his arms. She was smiling, her lips rouged and her eyes half-lidded.

Erik slowly laid her upon the silken sheets of his bed. She eased onto her back, trusting him…loving him.

His hands were shaking as he placed them on her calves, which were covered with a thin stocking.

He eased them up her shapely legs, brining the stained undergarment up with him.

All the while, he kept his eyes locked on hers.

Soon, the stained clothing was over Christine's head.

She lay before him nearly naked, save her stockings and the silky white material hiding her most intimate of places from him.

Christine had self-consciously crossed her arms over her chest. Erik grasped her wrists and gently brought her arms to her sides.

The sight of her perfectly shaped breasts nearly paralyzed him.

For a moment he just stared, having never seen a woman so intimately before.

Slowly, his hand levitated, moving to the soft skin of her neck, and then grazing down to where dusky peaks awaited attention.

Christine's breath caught as electric sensations shot through her.

She almost stopped breathing completely as Erik lowered his head to taste the delicate tips.

Still, her hands managed to bury themselves within the thickness of his dark hair, holding him to her.

When she thought she could handle no more, she pulled away, boldly easing Erik down onto the bed.

He allowed the action, his eyes wide as they followed her every movement.

As if possessed, Christine settled over top of Erik, her legs straddling his. She leaned down to run a trail of kisses down his chest, stopping briefly to playfully lick both of his darkened nipples.

Erik grasped her hips at the sensation.

As she moved lower, she became curious.

He was hard beneath the cloth of his pants. She could feel it against her body.

She looked up at him. His head was thrown back onto the pillows. She smiled.

Erik was, for the first time, under Christine's complete control.

Although the effects of the brandy had subsided, Christine still felt the bravery it had introduced into her system.

Which is why she began to work the buttons on his black trousers.

Not truly believing herself, Christine pulled the trousers from his body, suppressing a smile as she suddenly became very aware that Erik donned no undergarments.

He still wasn't looking at her; perhaps he was embarrassed, perhaps too stunned by what was happening.

Christine had never seen a man…the _essence _of what makes a man…up close before.

Curiosity got the best of her.

She wrapped long fingers around the thick hardness that was Erik.

When he moaned, she smiled wider.

Christine began to move her hand slowly, reveling in the arch of his back, the panting of his breath.

After a few moments, Erik grasped her suddenly and flipped her onto her back more quickly than she could process.

She laughed.

The sound melted the last of the ice that had formed around Erik's heart when she left him.

He was gazing down at her.

And smiling.

His thumbs found the waist of her remaining undergarment.

"Do you trust me, Christine," he breathed. Christine nodded.

He eased down the silk.

"Do you love me," he asked, his voice strained.

"More than anything," she whispered.

"Say you need me with you…here beside you," Erik said, positioning himself above her.

She answered by moving her legs wider to accommodate him.

"Say you love me," he demanded.

"You know I do," Christine replied.

As he eased into the warmth that was Christine, watching intently as a flash of pain crossed her face and then disappeared into a smile, he could not prevent the tears that began to fall from his eyes.

He moved within her, slowly at first, but picking up speed as she arched her back to meet him.

Soon they were writhing, screaming, venting the pent up rage, lust, anger and pain. Christine wrapped her legs around Erik, brining him even further into her.

He sucked at her neck, biting at the pulse he found there.

Then, suddenly, Christine exploded, screaming his name, digging her nails into his back.

The sensation caused Erik to follow, meeting her frenzied pitch and bursting into a thousand stars.

They remained still for a few moments, catching their breath.

Then, still inside her, Erik lifted his head, gazing down at the woman beneath her. He pushed aside a wayward curl and then lowered his lips to her mouth.

They kissed, sealing the moment, sealing their love…

knowing that they had passed the point of no return.


	18. Losing and Gaining

**_Okay guys, we all knew this had to happen. _**

**_It's the return of Raoul...and ya'll are gonna HATE HIM EVEN MORE NOW! haha. _**

**_I hope I did the first R chapter justice. We're back to PG-13, so those of you who didn't want to read the last chapter, just know that Erik and Christine had sex and are in sappy love. That pretty much sums up the R rated chap. This one is safe, save some bad language. _**

**_I've got a three day weekend, so we might see this story come to an end sooner than later. _**

**_Leave me some more fabulously funny reviews. I'm going to happy hour tonight at work and would love to have something to read when I get back all toasted._**

**_Or, better yet, my AIM screen name is BEEKERBOOGIRL. Feel free to IM me any time. I love meeting new people, especially those who have been reading this!_**

* * *

Luckily, the Opera Populaire was predictable.

It was late, way past midnight.

Everyone was asleep, either passed out from too much drink or too much work.

It was usually the former.

Erik and Christine walked slowly onto the stage, which was still draped in just about all of the props and scenery for Don Juan Triumphant.

Erik stared at the scenery, no doubt trying to suppress the feelings the sight was invoking in him.

"It is sort of a shame," Christine said as Erik ran a gloved hand over a long swatch of red silk. "It was a beautiful opera, Erik."

Erik turned to look at her. He would never tire of filling his sight with Christine. He had barely been able to keep his eyes off of her as he had directed his small carriage back to the Opera Populaire. She had rested lightly against him on the driver's bench, a smile playing on her ruddy lips.

Erik's carriage was tucked safely in an alleyway behind the opera, his horses ready to carry both he and Christine quickly away should there be any confrontation.

"It's no longer important," he said, referring to Don Juan Triumphant. "It's purpose has been served."

Christine came beside him, pressing a light kiss on his cheek.

He wore his mask again. Christine imagined he would never be comfortable in public without it. There was a terrible sadness attached to that realization.

"Christine," Erik interrupted her thoughts. "We must hurry."

Christine nodded. She had already packed a medium-sized suitcase with some of her more precious belongings from her room. Erik had sat on the edge of her generously-sized bed, watching her.

First, she had removed the heavy cloak Erik had wrapped around her prior to leaving his mansion. She had blushed as she caught his eyes roving over her once again naked body.

He had smirked, knowing her body was his, causing her to quickly dress in a simple light blue gown she had not worn in ages.

"You led me to believe you only wore black," Erik said, his voice teasing slightly.

She had smiled at him, adjusting her hair. "I am no longer in mourning," she informed him.

Erik resisted the urge to take her all over again.

Christine had insisted they come to the stage, so she could bid the Opera Populaire a proper goodbye. Erik had hesitated, wanting to put this place behind them as quickly as possible and move onto happier times.

He had waited for such times for long enough.

And now he watched her as she gazed around the large auditorium, her eyes misting.

She turned to him. "May I have a moment alone, Erik?" She asked softly.

Erik hesitated.

"Just a moment," Christine repeated.

He nodded. "I shall be right outside of those doors," he said, pointing to the back entrance to the stage.

Christine nodded, kissing him fully on the lips.

And with a flair of his cape, he left her alone on the stage.

Christine stood downstage, breathing deeply. She wanted to memorize this place; she never planned to return. She wanted to remember the sight of the red velvet seats, the impressive (restored) chandelier, the high ceilings, which were painted with all the most important biblical scenes.

She looked to box five, a chill radiating up her spine as she remembered seeing the shadowy figure that occupied the space during more than one of her performances.

How she would miss the applause, the lights, the glittering limelight that she had almost become addicted to!

She knew, however, that what she was gaining would more than compensate for what she was about to lose.

The part of her life that was defined by the Opera Populaire had come to a close.

It was time to seek new definitions.

She smiled, feeling all at once whole.

With one last remorseless glance, she turned; heading for where she knew Erik was waiting for her.

"You would leave without bestowing the same courtesy to me that you so _graciously_ gave to an empty room?"

The voice was cold.

Raoul.

Christine spun.

He stood there, looking nothing like the childhood friend she had been so close to.

His hair was loose about his face, partially obscuring the damage she had done to the right side of his face.

Raoul walked slowly onto the stage.

"Raoul," she addressed him. "What are you doing here?"

"I've come for my goodbye, Christine! I've come to see how _happy_ you are...how _sated_ you are after having spent yourself with _him_!"

His voice made Christine wince. It was harsh, pained...angry.

"Raoul, please..."

"Keep your pleas silent, Mademoiselle," Raoul barked coldly. He moved to her.

_Scream! Scream for Erik! _A voice in Christine's head ordered. Yet she remained silent, fear clutching her vocal chords.

"Would you like to see your handiwork, Christine?" Raoul asked, pulling his own hair roughly from his face and moving inches from her own.

Christine couldn't help the tears that formed at the sight of the jagged gash, the black as coal stitching that marred the once porcelain cheek.

"Raoul," she gasped. "I'm...I'm sorry...I was just doing...what I thought was best..." Christine offered weakly.

"What was _best?" _Raoul whispered harshly. "What was best for _whom_ exactly? Surely not for me!"

Christine knew that she had two options. She could run screaming from this place, calling for Erik to come to her rescue once more.

And honestly, that was probably what she would have to do.

But not yet.

"After the way you've acted, after this strange side of you has emerged, do you honestly think I would return to you, Raoul!" Christine said, her voice even.

Raoul stared at her, surprised by her suddenly apparent backbone.

Christine moved a bit closer to the man who was once her fiancé. "I am in love with Erik, Raoul. I always have been. I cannot help that, or change it," she whispered lowly. "And I don't want to."

"You choose him, a murdering, lying, deceitful man over me who has never wronged you in anyway?" Raoul asked incredulously.

"I can _feel_ how you have never wronged me," Christine said, moving a hand to her injured arm.

"You jumped in front of my sword..."

"To save the man I love!" Christine interrupted loudly.

The proclamation enraged Raoul.

"To save the man you love? You would have _killed_ me to _save the man you love?_"

Christine said nothing.

Raoul responded by smacking her hard across her face. Christine could taste blood in her mouth.

"You _whore_," he spat. "You worthless, conniving _whore!_"

He appeared taller, puffed into largeness by his rage.

_Perhaps now would be a good time to call for Erik_, the voice in Christine's head suggested.

Christine took a deep breath. "Erik!" She shrieked. "Erik!"

Raoul instantly clamped his hand over her mouth, his nose practically touching hers. "Do you wish to see _the man you love, _Christine?"

Christine's eyes went wide at the tone of his voice.

"Do you seek to have him appear and finish the job _you_ started?"

Raoul turned on his heel, moving to the curtains. Christine started to run towards the exit when she heard a struggle behind her followed by three or four sickening thuds.

She turned slowly, an icy feeling spreading throughout her body.

There, standing in the middle of the stage, was Raoul.

Laying in an unconscious, bleeding heap before him with his hands tied behind his back, was Erik.


	19. Either Way You Choose He Has To Win

**_Whoo...some of you HATE me right now...lol...it's okay guys. It's gonna be ok! _**

**_Thanks for the reviews! I think at this point I'll mention a few things. _**

**_A lot of your were pissed because you were like, hey, how the F did Raoul overcome Erik? ERIK IS THE INVINCIBLE PHANTOM! hahah..._**

**_Well, one of the main points I've been reinforcing in this story is that Erik is a human. He was just never given the chance to behave like one. He is not invincible...sexy as all get out, but not invincible. Plus, love can be distracting. _**

**_And the short lines. I like it! I can't help it! I write in statements, not paragraphs. hahaha! I know it's not for everyone, but I think it would be weird if I changed my format at THIS point, right? lol..._**

**_Two things you need to know about this chapter...One, we're backtracking a little. Two, someone is about to die. _**

**_evil laugh_**

**_-Nico_**

* * *

She turned to him. "May I have just a moment alone, Erik?" She asked softly.

Erik hesitated.

"Just a moment," Christine repeated.

He nodded. "I shall be right outside of those doors," he said, pointing to the back entrance to the stage.

Christine nodded, kissing him fully on the lips.

And with a flair of his cape, he left her alone on the stage.

He hadn't wanted to leave her alone, not in a space that had proven over the years to be so dangerous.

Yet he had known she needed this closure.

Besides, he would not be far.

The wooden hallways behind the main stage of the Opera Populaire had always echoed strange noises. Even as Erik stood there now, he smiled at the sounds.

They were actually comforting to him.

His mind began to drift to the years he had spent maneuvering the hidden passageways and staircases within the theater. He had had access to nearly every nook of the large building. He knew things that others merely suspected.

And he could remember it all…

Including the precise moment he had fallen in love with Christine Daee.

"_Meg, you're terrible!" Christine giggled, rushing into the bedroom she shared with her friend. _

"_It's the truth, Christine!" Meg laughed breathlessly. "And then after he kissed me he said, "It was like tasting the heavens!""_

_The two girls collapsed into a giggling heap in front of the mirror Erik was standing behind. _

_It had been Summertime, and the two pretty girls were wearing almost identical summer dresses, Meg's a pale green and Christine's the light blue, the color the 15-year old adored above all others. _

_Christine's brown hair was loose, as she was still young enough to wear it as such. Large doe eyes, ruddy cheeks and full lips offset her pale face. _

_She was beautiful, Erik realized. _

_The girls sat in front of each other a short distance from the mirror. Had the smooth glass not been between them, Erik could have reached out and ran his fingers down Christine's smooth face. _

"_Oh, Meg," Christine was saying, still laughing. "I think it's romantic," she said of her friend's first kiss. "I want my first kiss to be one that takes my very breath away. One that I shall never forget…the kiss of true love."_

_Meg laughed again. "You and your dreams, Christine," she chided. "I doubt very seriously that your first kiss will be with your true love."_

_Christine suddenly looked at the mirror, although she did not know Erik was watching. _

_Still, it startled him. _

"_Perhaps not," Christine relented. "I meant that when I _do_ finally kiss my true love, it shall feel like my first kiss, and I will never want to kiss another."_

_Meg sighed, lost in the sweet, innocent picture Christine had painted for her. _

_Erik had never noticed his heartbeat before, but upon hearing the talented young woman's description, a warmth had spread through him. _

_It had been the first time feelings of an amicable nature towards another human being had coursed through his body. _

Lost in his thoughts, Erik did not hear Raoul's footsteps behind him.

Nor did he hear the sound of a thickly coiled lasso being swung through the air.

He did, however, feel the rope as it encircled his throat, nearly cutting off his entire supply of air.

Erik was suddenly jerked backwards, landing on his back.

Looking up into the eyes of Raoul, who was smiling.

"How does it feel to be on the other side of the rope?" The younger man hissed, obviously pleased with himself.

Enraged, Erik began to struggle, trying to simultaneously rise to his feet and pull the rope from his neck.

Both proved impossible. Raoul had the advantage, having pre-planned this attack.

How predictable Christine was, Raoul thought as he brought the heavy pipe down onto Erik's body, causing the man to double over in pain.

Raoul knew she would have to return at least once more. He knew she could not just forget this place.

It had meant too much to her.

He had also known _he_ would be with her.

And so he had waited, watched and listened from behind the curtains.

When she had asked for a moment alone, Raoul had almost laughed.

How fortunate he was!

He kicked the already injured Erik in the ribs and squatted down beside the fallen man, keeping the lasso tight in his hand.

"Have _you_ missed _me_, Good Monsieur?" Raoul asked.

Erik looked over at him, somehow managing to find the strength to struggle once more, this time making it to his feet and landing a punch across Raoul's face.

Raoul responded by tightening the noose once more, instantly bringing Erik to his knees.

"She…doesn't love…doesn't love you," Erik managed to growl. Raoul's eyes darkened. "Would you…sacrifice her happiness for yours?" Erik continued, the rope painfully tightening once more.

"Do not speak to me," Raoul barked, moving closer to Erik. He stood before him. "It seems our roles have reversed," he continued. "It seems _I _am now the one creating the terms."

Erik watched as Raoul pulled a sleek dagger from the sheath at his waist. "Only this time, _I_ will not be so foolish as to let her go."

And with that, he plunged the dagger into Erik's midsection.

Erik doubled over once more, his sight blurry as he watched Raoul enter the stage.

He must have passed out for a moment, because the next thing Erik knew, he was being dragged back onto the stage by Raoul with his hands tied behind his back.

He struggled once more and was met with several blows to his face, the final once bringing him to the ground once more.

"Erik!" Christine shrieked, instantly running to where he lay.

Raoul instantly knelt next to Erik, pulling him up by his hair and placing the dagger to his throat.

Christine stopped in her tracks.

"Raoul! What are you doing?" Christine wailed, feeling as if she might be ill.

"Let's see how you choose _now_, Christine, now that _I _am the monster who is in control!" Raoul yelled back, tears visible on his face.

Erik's eyes fluttered open, focusing on Christine.

"Christine…whatever…whatever he asks of you…do not agree," he whispered, blood trickling down his chin. "Don't throw your life away for my sake.."

"Shut up!" Raoul roared, pulling his hair tighter.

"Raoul, stop it!" Christine cried, watching as the white shirt Erik wore beneath his dark suit became stained with his own blood.

"Shall we three play another game?" Raoul asked in his desperate voice. "Shall we _truly_ rehash the ghosts of so long ago? Tell me Erik, what was the choice you once placed before our beautiful Miss Daee? Ah yes…"

He looked to Christine, his eyes wild and foreign.

"Start a new life with me," Raoul growled. "Buy _his_ freedom with your love. Refuse me and you send your lover to his death," he caught his rasping breath. "_This _is the choice. _This _is the point of no return."

Tears fell down Christine's face as she watched Erik, caught helplessly in Raoul's grasp.

She opened her mouth to speak, to say something, _anything _to save Erik. His eyes were locked with hers. How she loved him! She would give her life for him!

And his eyes told her the same.

It wasn't fair, that this love, this purity, this climax of incidence and accidents would end like this. A sob escaped her lips. Raoul wouldn't stop here. No matter what she chose, he would win. Even if she chose him, he would kill Erik.

Suddenly, a single, sharp, loud shot rang through the Opera Populaire.

And Christine realized this time the choice had been made for her.

Raoul was dead.


	20. A Not So Unfortunate Death

**_One of my wonderful reviewers figured out this little whodunit...well done!_**

**_We're VERY close to the end...but this is not it. _**

**_Okay...here we go...all together now...WHO SHOT RAOUL?_**

* * *

"Erik!" Christine screamed, instantly running to his side. She avoided looking over at Raoul, whose crimson blood would surely stain the stage of the Opera Populaire for as long as it stood.

Christine quickly untied the thick rope Raoul had tied tightly around Erik's wrists. As soon as his hands were free, he wrapped his arms around Christine, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

They remained, sitting in the center of the stage, a real life ending to a tragic love story.

Footsteps.

Christine tightened her grip on Erik as they both stood, Erik's hand on his middle, trying to staunch the blood that still flowed from his fresh wound.

Standing there, their faces white with shock were Madame Giry and one of the police officers that had interrogated Raoul.

In the officer's hand was a smoking gun.

"I thought…I thought he was …" the officer stammered. "I thought _he _was the Phantom of the Opera," he finished, feeling awkward using the fabled title.

Madame Giry walked slowly next to Raoul, crossing herself slowly. She looked to where Christine and Erik stood, their eyes full of fright.

Christine tightened her arms around the true phantom…her Erik.

She would not let them take him.

She would die without him.

"Who are you, Sir?" The officer asked Erik, moving closer to the wounded man.

Christine looked nervously from Madame Giry to the masked man in her arms.

This was it. The last time they would be able to embrace each other. All of Paris could recount the horrors that saw the Opera Populaire three years ago. There were those, such as the family of Joseph Buquet, who demanded justice, who would stop at nothing until the now legendary Phantom of the Opera was apprehended…

and made to pay for his crimes.

She held Madame Giry's gaze, pleading for salvation.

Madame Giry had never been a liar. She was careful of what she spoke and whom she spoke it too, but she was honest.

She had never had a reason to lie.

Until now.

She moved over to Erik and Christine.

Erik looked down at her; this was the first time he had been this close to her since she first led him down to the safety that was to become his lair beneath the Opera Populaire.

Madame Giry placed a thin hand gently on the side of Erik's face that was visible.

His eyes closed. It was a simple touch, but it was genuine…

motherly.

Tears came to Christine's eyes as she realized how Madame Giry's simple touch affected Erik.

"This man's name is Erik," Madame Giry announced, her voice even. "He is the genius who placed Don Juan Triumphant to paper," she turned to look at the officer. "And the unfortunate target of Raoul De Changy's madness."

The officer nodded, but continued to look at the mask covering Erik's deformity.

Madame Giry scoffed. "Monsieur, if you are looking for the Phantom of the Opera, his is easily found," she said.

Both Christine and Erik froze.

Madame Giry held their gaze, smiling.

"Where, Madame?" The officer pressed.

"The same place he has been for the past three years, Monsieur," she replied, keeping her eyes locked with Christine's. "He lies in a grave, not too far from here," she finished, turning to the officer once more.

"I've heard that rumor as well, Madame," the officer said, still looking at Erik and the woman whose arms held him up. "But we have reports that the Phantom has been seen recently, and I dare say…Erik does fit the description."

"There are rumors that are true," Madame Giry said firmly.

"Unless you have proof of the Phantom's death, there is little I can do except bring in _this _man for questioning," the officer said, almost apologetically.

"Proof, Monsieur?" Madame Giry smiled wider, pulling a piece of paper from the folds of her skirt. She held it out to the officer, who took it gingerly.

Christine looked at Erik, whose face was becoming dangerously pale.

They were running out of time.

The officer read the paper and the looked at Madame Giry with a shocked expression of his face. "Madame, this is a death certificate," he said. Madame Giry nodded.

"I always pitied the man who has become know as the Phantom," she spoke with a hint of sadness. "When he died, there was no one to bury him, no one to send him off to judgment properly. I took it upon myself to make the arrangements, for he deserved better than an eternity in an unmarked grave."

She looked up to box five.

"With the fortune he had…amassed…while living within these walls, I memorialized him, hoping the stone and marble that marked the death of the Phantom of the Opera would serve as a reminder to all of Paris that we, as humans, all have the capability to choose to decide whether to live in the darkness, or to step into the light," she said, causing tears to fall from Christine's eyes.

Madame Giry walked to where Raoul lay. "Unfortunately, Monsieur, the Viscount failed to acknowledge the message."

Suddenly, Erik fell to the ground, the blood loss overwhelming him.

"Erik!" Christine screamed, falling with him. "Get a doctor!" She commanded the officer who obliged instantly.

Madame Giry knelt down beside Christine, who was holding Erik's wound tightly, whispering phrases of love into him ear, telling him not to give up…

not after they had come this far.

Madame Giry placed a hand on Christine's shoulder. The young woman looked up at her.

"If he dies…" her voice broke on the last word.

Madame Giry shook her head, praying that help would come quickly.


	21. To Those Who Really Know

**_So this is it. This is where our story ends. _**

**_I'm very sad it's over, but happy to offer you the final chapter in this story. _**

**_Thank you all for your wonderful reviews...your support. _**

**_I hope to bring you more Phan fics in the future!_**

**_But for now, let's enjoy the closure we've all been waiting for..._**

* * *

****

Erik didn't expect death to feel so…

Warm.

He opened his eyes slowly, adjusting to the darkness.

"Erik?" A voice asked softly. "Erik, can you hear me?"

He turned to the sound, his eyes focusing on an angel.

She hovered above him, her face concerned.

Suddenly, recognition flared within Erik's mind.

"Christine?" He asked, his voice stronger than he expected. Christine smiled, sitting next to him on his silken black sheets. "Where are we?"

"We're home…that is…we're at your home," Christine answered, placing a cool hand to his forehead. Erik sat up slowly, wincing as a pain shot through his abdomen. Christine immediately guided him back down onto the lush pillows beneath his head. "Lay back," she instructed softly.

Erik pulled the sheets down to inspect his body. Several large, ugly bruises spotted his normally even skin tone. A large sheet of gauze was wrapped around his middle, no doubt covering the stitching that surely saved his life.

Christine brought a cool glass of water to his lips. He drank slowly, keeping his eyes on Christine.

She looked tired. She had obviously spent the past night at his side, waiting, praying that he would wake.

He reached out and ran his hand over a large bruise that marred her porcelain skin. "Are you alright?" He asked her. She nodded.

"Certainly more alright than you," she whispered, settling next to him once more. She looked down at him and breathed deeply. "I thought I had lost you again," she said, her eyes brimming with tears.

He pulled her down next to him, allowing her soft sobs to fall against his chest. He stroked her back lightly, whispering reassurances into her ear.

Christine pressed a light kiss on his chest, thankful that he was here, alive, breathing beneath her. She lifted her head to look at him.

"It's over, Erik," she whispered. "It's all over."

Erik smiled. "On the contrary, Christine. Things have just begun…"

He pulled her down, ignoring her protests that he was weak, that he needed to rest…

And kissed her deeply, assuring her of his continued virility.

It stole her breath away. "You must rest, Erik," she protested as she tried to wriggle away.

He smiled, pulling her down again. "There will be time to rest when I am dead, my love," he replied.

Christine laughed, snuggling deep into the bed…_their _bed…and sighed as he wrapped a protective arm around her.

And with their thoughts towards the future, they fell asleep as a canopy of stars twinkled down upon them the music of the night.

* * *

THREE YEARS LATER

Christine walked through the cemetery awkwardly, maneuvering herself through the freshly fallen snow.

Why did it ALWAYS have to snow on this day?

Suddenly she slipped.

A strong hand caught her elbow.

She looked over to her husband, whose masked face was carrying a smirk.

"What, exactly, are you smiling about?" Christine asked, turning to him, her enormous belly causing Erik to have to back up several steps.

"At your stubbornness," Erik replied, brushing a curl out of her eyes. "I had hoped that we could postpone this little trip for a few more weeks."

Christine continued to walk, more determined than before. "I told you that we needed to come here on this day…it's important to me Erik."

Erik nodded. "I know, darling."

They walked the rest of the way in silence, save Christine's breath which was just as heavy as the extra weight she carried within her womb.

When they finally reached the elaborate grave, Christine paused, placing a hand on her stomach and regulating her breathing. She looked over at Erik, who, for the past 8 months or so, had the same expression of love and concern plastered across the visible portion of his face.

"I'm fine," she said with a smile, answering his unasked question. She winced as the baby kicked fiercely. "Only your child would cause me so much trouble," she remarked.

Erik placed a large hand across the expanse of Christine's stomach and smiled.

As one, they turned to look down at the grave.

Christine leaned forward, placing a red rose on the ground in front of the tombstone.

"Did you love him, Christine?" Erik asked.

Christine looked up at him. "The word 'love' doesn't even come close to describing what I felt for him," she answered.

Erik wrapped his arms around her. "He loves you too, Christine."

Christine smiled, placing her cold lips to his. "I know," she murmured as she rested her head on his shoulder.

Snow began to fall again.

"Christine, we should return," Erik prompted, unwilling to let his wife and child freeze to death in the cemetery.

"Alright," Christine relented. "I just need one moment alone."

Erik cocked an eyebrow. "You _do_ remember what happened the last time I left you alone for a moment…"

Christine rolled her eyes. "I'm sure that you'll be watching me from the shadows," she said.

Erik placed another kiss on her forehead. "Always," he whispered, sending shivers that had nothing to do with the cold over Christine's body.

As he walked away, Christine watched his cape flair, loving him more with each passing second.

She turned back to the grave, placing a hand on the tombstone. "So this is goodbye," she said. "Your demons have been exercised, you are whole…"

She wiped the snow away from the two letters that marked the tomb. "But I shall never forget the man you were, the man you have become, the man you were meant to be."

She turned to follow her husband, who was waiting for her down the path.

The snow continued to fall as the lovers left the cemetery for the last time.

In the years to follow, many would visit this tomb, some for the wonder, some for the thrill. If you visit now, the elaborate tomb still stands, the angels slightly worse for the wear, the marble dulled and chipping.

But the two simple letters upon the tombstone remain, a stark reminder of the choices we all make, the people we love, and the darkness that can comfort, consume, or destroy.

It is a shame, really. All the elaborate marble and stoic angels that guard the tomb are protecting an empty grave containing the past of a man whose name was has not been preserved for the ages…

But to those who know, to those who really know how the story ended, the Opera Ghost's tomb would always serve as a reminder to abandon the darkness, and let the song take flight.


End file.
